


logolepsy

by vehlr, weatheredlaw



Series: logolepsy [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Epistolary, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasizing, Letters, Mild Language, Mutually Unrequited, Poetry, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:31:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 87,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4852994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>logolepsy</i><br/>(n.) a fascination or obsession with words</p><p>or: After Adamant, the spoken word fails. Thankfully there's more than one way to tell someone you're thinking about them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. letter set 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a little thing, but, as per usual, it has spiraled out of control. Our preemptive apologies. Sort of. Not really.
> 
> vehlr: we are not even a _little_ bit sorry.
> 
> cassandra letters: weatheredlaw  
> varric letters: vehlr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra: You do keep rather egregious company.  
> Varric: Egregious? Fancy word for a woman who is more in my company than any Carta members.

Varric -- But where will the knight-captain go next?

\--C

 

 

 

Seeker --

                Are you asking for _spoilers?_ You know I never give sneak previews! The anticipation is half the fun of reading a good story, after all. You should know that.

                Then again, I’d hardly call it a _good_ story. So I guess there’s no harm in it. The knight-captain’s been through a lot already, as well you know, but in her line of work there’s hardly time to stop and smell the roses. No doubt she’ll not thank the courier about to walk into her office with a letter from an old friend…

                Let me think on it a little more. I’ve been busy with ~~letters to~~ other things.

\-- V.T.

 

 

 

Varric –

Of course. It was not my attempt to rush you, nor pry. I suppose I can wait.

~~Are you we~~

~~Do you need~~

\--C

 

 

 

Seeker --

                You? Pry? Maker forbid. Although I suppose I should be flattered that you’re so invested in the story. I don’t really read fanmail, you know. Fans usually have terrible ideas. And they’re always writing to tell me how wrong I was to kill off their favourite characters!

                Anyway. The Knight-Captain. Where did I leave off again… ah, the courier was about to make his grand entrance.

 

                A glorified messenger-boy at best, really, but it pays well and he’s getting some good exercise out of it. He’s hardly a precise sort of person, but his knock is measured, three sharp raps against the wooden door.

                She takes a deep breath - every time she opens that damned door, it’s something new, some catastrophe or some unwanted news, and it drains her. That ache that comes from a life already long-lived. ~~I guess you’d know tha~~

                Opening the door, she puts on her best ‘go away’ face. “What is it?” The unspoken ‘now’ hangs in the air between them.

                “Oh. You’re the knight-captain?”

                He seems surprised, as if she could easily pass for some other soul in an easier life. The thought grates.  
                “Yes,” she responds tersely. “I assume that’s for me?” She snatches the letter from his fingers, dismissing him by slamming the door in his face.

                The courier blinks, taken aback, before turning sharply on his heel and leaving. He was a professional, after a fashion, and had much more work to do.

               

                What do you think? Too abrupt?

                -- V.T.

 

 

 

Varric—

Why is the entrance so grand? Who is this courier and why does he matter so much? You do this far too often, coming up with new and “interesting” characters and this whisking them away. It seems unnecessary. And what is in this letter, and why are people writing letters, you cannot just start these things, it is untoward.

I suppose it is alright.

 

\--C

 

 

 

Seeker --

                Cut me some slack, I normally _edit_ this shit. Anyway, the courier might be important, I don’t know yet. Sometimes it’s good to have options. Besides, taking notice of the unnoticed isn’t a _bad_ thing. Makes you wonder who else you haven’t seen.

                The letter is a letter, Seeker. People write them all the time. As all unopened letters are, it’s a point of interest. A letter can say a lot, you know - a hello, a question, an answer, a goodbye… until you open it, you have no way of knowing. They’re infinitely damning.

                “I suppose it is alright.” High praise indeed. So you would be interested in more? Or should I write this all off as an exercise in trying to please the impossible?

                --V.T.

 

 

 

Varric --

Yes, I suppose there is some merit to what you are saying here. I do not write letters often, as I’m sure you can tell. I would like to know more, but only if it is convenient for you. I know that you are busy.

I am not impossible. I simply have high standards.

\--C

 

 

 

Seeker --

                That doesn’t surprise me. ~~After all, you can’t stab through a lett~~ It can be hard to get tone across, and that’s ~~too subtl~~ not your style. You should try it, though. A letter can convey a lot more than just the words written on the page. Hell, a letter can tell a story.

                And the Knight-Captain finds that this is the case with her own.

 

                The parchment is worn, the kind of thinness that comes from being stuffed at the bottom of a traveler’s pack for too long, and the ring-stain that decorates the lower corner of the envelope hints at the sender - someone who would write and then forget to send the damned thing. She knew forgetful people. They kept her around for such a purpose, after all.

                Turning it over in her hand, the suspicion is confirmed by the seal - an imprint of a Carta house, a familiar one. The only one she cares to have dealings with… or, at least, cared. She had not parted on good terms with the head of the house. Her fault, in a way - but his too, as these things always tend to be.

                She cracks the wax, sliding the letter from the envelope.

                “What have you gotten yourself into now?” she mutters under her breath.

 

                You remember the Carta contact from the first book? This is why I keep throwing characters in. Although it’s not him - little shit was annoying, but not that far up the chain of command.

\-- V.T.

 

 

 

Varric--

~~I do remember! Does this mean there will be more fighting, does she have contact with them again, are they going to continue to be allies, will they be able to mend things she is so stubborn I can’t see how that would come very easily~~

A strange turn of events. I suspect the Carta contact was inspired by a real life meeting. You do keep rather egregious company.

Perhaps I will become more practiced at letter writing. I suspect is much like any other talent. One must work at it to improve.

 

\--C

 

 

 

Seeker --

                Egregious? Fancy word for a woman who is more in my company than any Carta members. Besides, it’s all a matter of taste. Of which I have an abundance. But no, actually the original Carta meeting was almost entirely how I met Hawke.

                Anyway.

               

                She unfolds the letter, the familiar neat handwriting of Loric Brondwin staring back at her. House Brondwin was one of those good dwarven names, the kind that had fallen from grace in Orzammar but had flourished under the sky thanks to the hard work and diligence of its surviving son. It was a name most knew, but few could actually say they had direct links to.

                They did anyway, of course.

                A sigh escapes her lips, unbidden. She had been… well, friends seemed like a strange word for their connection. Almost like it was too much and not enough. But it had all ended a year back, after some ugly words on both sides. Still, now that she holds his words in her hands… there was something familiar about the sensation in her stomach. She pays it no mind, turning her attention to his words.

                _Knight-Captain,_

_Heard about the fiasco at the docks. Glad to hear you made it out in one piece. Information on thugs available from Hilda, if you lean on her hard enough. Storm’s coming._

_Don’t get caught in it._

_\- L._

                She stares at the words, suddenly angry. After all this time, and… that was it?

 

                You’re doing alright so far, Seeker. Give it time.

                -- V.T.

 

 

Varric—

But what is this? Who was this person? He seems very quick to cover his tracks. She should be angry, she is very right to be angry. It is a cheap display of emotion, I am not impressed. If this man cares so much what she thinks of him, wouldn’t he want to say something? Of course she is incredibly bullheaded and that could perhaps go poorly. A year is a long time. Maybe she feels differently. Maybe she will --

I was interrupted and my train of thought was lost. Unfortunate, but it does not appear I was doing anything but making a fool of myself.

\--C

 

Seeker --

                Give the guy a chance! Yes, a year is a long time, but maybe that’s exactly why he hasn’t said something - he’s not sure where he stands anymore. He doesn’t want to make her angry by throwing out words without testing the waters first. And maybe she does feel differently, but maybe he does too. Maybe he’s sorry for how things have ended up, but he’s not sure how to reach out.

                Honestly, Seeker, you’re so judgmental.

                Still, you have some very good points. Not even a little bit foolish, either - feedback like this is good. I would never have considered it a cheap display of emotion, for example. It probably took a lot of nerve to write that first letter. To me, that’s ~~brave~~ admirable.

                Busy, Seeker? I suppose you’re not really used to being this idle for so long.

                -- V.T.

 

Varric –

If I am too judgmental it is because I am practiced at it. Men are always the first to insist they be given a second chance, it seems to be their way. Perhaps it is true that they are entering unknown territory, but I find hollow sentiments to be a poor substitute for honest feelings.

I suppose you would find the layers of his inquiry admirable. After all, why ask someone how they are doing when you simply remain aloof about why you care in the first place?

And I am never idle. I am simply without something to do.

\--C

 

 

 

Seeker --

                That’s ridiculous. Sentiment might be hollow at times, but - well, look, how would YOU react if someone had wronged you and after a long time just came out of the blue and said, sorry that we stopped talking but there’s something important you need to understand and it wasn’t entirely my fault? Don’t bullshit me, you’d be outraged. Sentiment makes that first connection easier - and sure, it’s not always the best way, but it’s not always hollow either.

                Second chances are hard to come by. Maybe he doesn’t deserve it - ~~maybe nobody does~~ but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to pass on what information he has, to help her. If nothing else, she deserves the truth.

That’s called a day off. You do know what one of those is, right?

                -- V.T.

 

 

 

Varric --

We can agree on one thing I suppose -- she certainly deserves the truth. The question is, do you intend to give it to her? I know that it has been difficult for you in the past, and must often be pried for your stubborn fingers.

Of course he deserves a second chance. I believe that most everyone does. It is simply a matter of going about it in the correct way. I suspect you are well versed in the language of second chances, I know you distribute them as freely as the ale you purchase for Cullen’s soldiers. I find myself more hesitant. A life serving the Divine does not open itself to those who would ingratiate themselves to you without an agenda. Considering that, the life of a woman does not often allow it either.

\--C

 

 

 

Seeker --

                ~~That’s hardly fair.~~ No, hang on. You’re right, I’m not always upfront about the truth. But I never lie without a good reason, and that’s the truth of it. Like it or don’t like it, that’s who I have always been.

                ~~I need a drink.~~

                Of course she’s going to find out the truth. ~~Thank you for your faith in my storytelling abilities, Seeker. I appreciate it.~~

                People make mistakes, alright? No two ways about it. So maybe I’m a little forgiving, so what? You make it sound like a bad thing. Life’s hard enough without holding grudges.

                -- V.T.

 

 

 

Varric--

I was not brought up to be forgiving. Nevarra is a homeland of grudges, you would detest it I’m sure. ~~My brother Anthony could I was never able~~

People do make mistakes. I have not been very good at ever understanding their rationale. Perhaps it is why I do not suffer my own.

~~I sometimes see too much of myself in this story~~

My passion seems to be misplaced. I am largely confident that you will find a way to tell her the truth.

\--C

 

 

 

Seeker --

                Sorry about the delay. Stuff came up.

 

                It is late in the day when the Knight-Captain reaches her decision. Perhaps a little late to be considering such a move, but she shoulders her shield and steels herself for the events that must surely unfold. A letter was not enough, she knows that much, and she was of no mind to use the same medium to respond. No, she would go to him directly, and hang the suggestion that she should visit a source first. Maker take him for trying to pass the message along through someone else.

                The setting sun illuminates her city in golden light, and as she closes the door behind her she half-fancies it might rival the Maker’s House itself. But despite the sun, the shadows are long - have always been long, and filled with danger. She could only do so much, and yet… she had to keep trying. Had to. Otherwise, what was the point?

                Loric Brondwin’s estate is large, but time had begun to wear away at the edges - weeds were beginning to crop up between the flagstones, crushed under her boots as she strides up to the door. A sharp rap on the door, and before she can consider her words she is whisked through the mansion to a side room - one she did not recall from previous visits. It was less impressive than some of his other entertaining rooms, but the fireplace is still roaring, as expected.

                “Loric.” Her voice is dry, her patience no greater than when she had received his letter. “It has been quite some time.”

 

                If you were the Knight-Captain, would you have done the same thing?

                -- V.T.

 

 

 

Varric--

 

I may have, yes. It is noble, and brave, though I claim to be neither one. She is more courageous than I might have been, but I understand her urgency. Such a matter should be resolved as quickly as possible. I wonder how deep her feelings go, and if she would be as quick to acknowledge them out loud as she is to question his motivations. Sometimes expressing to someone how you feel is difficult, particularly when you are not a person to whom words come naturally.

You are forgiven for a delay when someone who bears the same name as your crossbow appears on Skyhold’s doorstep. I certainly hope you are happy.

\--C

 

 

 

Seeker --

                ~~Are you fucking kiddi~~

                It’s business. ~~As in none of your~~ Lots of things have names. But I’ll get to work on the next bit as soon as this business is done.

                -- V.T.

 

 

Varric --

If you are not interested, don’t bother. You are not the only one with things to do.

\--C

 

 

 

Seeker --

                ~~Fine, be that way. You know, I was fine before~~

                I started writing this letter before I went, and now I’m back and I don’t remember what the point of it was. Sometimes it feels like I can plot everything else, but never my life. Maybe that’s why I do it - maybe that’s why I write. Some… semblance of control.

                Shit, I can’t send this. I sound like an idiot.

                ~~Nothing new there, I suppose.~~

                                I’m sorry. ~~Even though you~~    ~~I shouldn’t have~~

                -- V.T.

 

 

 

Seeker --

                Can we pretend that I didn’t make a total ass of myself last night? And by pretend, I mean that it never happened. I’ll make it worth your while - a whole chapter without me needling you for whatever reaction you might have? Total amnesty on my part?

                -- V.T.

 

 

 

Varric--

Yet another delay. I detest the Hissing Wastes.

I cannot pretend it didn’t happen, but I will not mention it beyond this letter, if that is what you would prefer. I won’t pretend that you weren’t more honest with me in a handful of words than perhaps you have ever been. A sign of growth on your part, perhaps? Though I do suspect you had more whiskey than you claim.

You may write what you wish. I do not mind the needling. It is not so troublesome, on my part. ~~If you would like to talk~~

\--C

 

 

 

Seeker --

                Loric Brondwin has not changed in her absence, and the Knight-Captain finds herself admiring him - for a brief moment, before reason takes hold of her once more. He does not turn to face her - a telling gesture, she thinks.

                “Anneline,” he murmurs, her name - her real name, a name that few gave voice to since her rise in the ranks. She had forgotten how he could make it sound. And then he lets out a sharp laugh, short and brittle - much like him. “If I’d known a letter was all it took -”

                “Don’t be glib,” she snaps. “What was the point in that ridiculous note?”

                “I thought you might be interested in what Hilda knew,” he says, finally turning from the fire, a steely look in his eyes as he meets her fiery gaze. “Ancestors, Anneline, call it civic duty if you have to. But I found out information, and thought it best passed on to someone who could do something sensible with it. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the Carta factions are bleeding themselves dry. I can hardly afford to start another war.”

                “Civic duty.” As if he knew what the words meant. She sneers. “You are deplorable, Loric. After everything you did -”

                “What I did? What I did was -” _should_ He stops, closing his eyes. “What I did,” he starts again, quieter, “was I did nothing. And I have acted, should have moved against the bastards who wanted you strung up, but…” He trails off, and she frowns.

                “You’re not making a lick of sense,” she mutters. “You did act - you were the one who -”

                “You believe that? Truly?”

                She glares, and he recoils, a hurt look in his eyes. She pays it no mind - why should she? Over a year of dealing with his betrayal - she had nothing left to go over. “Yes.”

                “Well,” he says quietly. “I suppose that’s that.” He turns away again, and the urge to grab him, to shake him down and ask why, why now, after all this time, why a letter -

                But she does none of those things, instead straightening up. “I suppose it is.”

                “You should talk to Hilda. I really did mean that.” Picking up the goblet from the side-table, he offers one last parting gesture. “Stone as my witness, Anneline, I would _never_ betray you like that. Never.”

                Before she can respond, he leaves.

                -- V.T.

 

 

 

Varric—

This is ~~beautiful~~ ~~incredibly touching~~ ~~so different from what I’ve read before~~ quite good. You did not needle, but I will tell you anyway, I do wonder what will happen next. As I always do.

I think you are being hard on the Knight-Captain. She has suffered so much, seen so much. Can you fault her for having a hard heart? When the world around her is twice as difficult as she? When she has liars all around her, when she cannot even trust a simple letter, when she does not know what she should do next because everything is falling apart and would anyone even understand if she --

Forgive me. It has been a very long week.

\--C

 

 

 

Seeker --

                I’d suggest you take a break, but I know you won’t. Just… look after yourself, alright?

                Actually, I agree with you. After all she’s been through (admittedly, because I put her through it) she’s hardened, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Especially in her city. But equally, she’s forgotten how to let go of that shield around her heart. Hopefully she will, eventually. She deserves better, after all.

                ~~If you need to~~

                She’s a practical woman, and as much as Loric is ~~an idiot~~ ~~a snak~~ questionable at best, she knows that any lead should be followed through. But then again, she could delegate and take the day off. Not that she would, but…

                I should have more soon. The Guild are trying to rob me blind in my absence. Thankfully, I do know how to delegate. I can be fairly convincing when I need to.

\-- V.T.

 

 

 

Varric --

A shield is a hard thing to let go of.

\--C

 

 

 

Varric --

Loric seems to have good intentions, so I will withhold a harsher judgment for now. Also, I am not sure what your newfound obsession with “taking the day off” is, but we are at war, and cannot afford vacations.  

If the guild gives you too much trouble, I’m sure Josephine could be convinced to give them a written tongue-lashing. She is quite skilled.

\--C

 

 

 

Seeker --

                ~~Are you oka~~

                It is not an obsession. Everyone needs to take a break. You work too hard, and you eventually drive yourself into the ground. ~~I’m not going to watch you fall like he~~

                I’m thinking of setting up a weekly game of Wicked Grace. You interested?

                Ruffles has already offered her services, but I can handle it.

\-- V.T.

 

 

 

Varric--

I am terrible at card games, and you know this. That being said, I suppose a bit of rest now and then would not hurt.

If you are going to insist that I rest, then I will have to insist that you accept help, even when you would prefer to shoulder the burden on your own. Perhaps you think you are the most adept at handling the situation, but know that there are a dozen people in Skyhold alone who would drop their work at a moment’s notice to assist you.

I can list them, if it would make it easier on you.

\--C

 

 

 

Seeker --

                I can help with that, you know. Besides, the practice will help you learn, and it’s a lot more than just a card game. Trust me, you’ll love it. I’ll let you know when I’ve made arrangements.

                ~~Name them~~

                Alright, alright. I’ll make you a deal. You relax more, take a little time for yourself, do things that aren’t important or necessary - you do know how to do that, right? - and I’ll ask Ruffles to lean on a few merchants in my name. Sound fair?

                -- V.T.

 

 

 

Varric--

Yes, I suppose that is alright. ~~I cannot believe I am making a deal with you.~~ I will agree to this. I cannot promise to have the time to practice learning a card game, but I suppose I can attempt this as well. Do not let it go to your head, dwarf.

\--C

 

 

 

Seeker --

You’ll pick it up quick enough, don’t worry.

                Speaking of picking up…

 

                The Knight-Captain wakes up early, as she is wont to do, and watches the sun rise. The sky threatens to cloud over, even this early in the day, but she pays it little mind. The dawning rays strike the Chantry tower in a glorious symbol of hope, and she feels her soul ease at the sight.

                The garrison is already active when she calls the guards to assemble. The latest batch of recruits show promise, though she would never say as much. Instead she offers them a solid stare, her mouth a thin line. Their backs straighten a little more. Good, she thinks. Let them harden.

                “Rotations will be up before the end of the day. And if I hear any more complaints about training, I will step in.” It is not an idle threat, but the point is made as she heads into her office, and behind her the murmured voices seem to come to agreements.

                She considers the matter of Hilda, fingers folding and unfolding Loric’s letter as she weighs the options. As much as she wanted to dismiss it as a desperate attempt to reconnect, for whatever reasons he might have, she could not simply ignore a potential lead. Still, it was not worth wasting her time on when there was good work to be done here. She summons one of her more reliable guards, Durren, and sends him over to see what he could find out.

                The day whirls past her in a haze of paperwork and drills; the latter is a wonderful chance to get out some of her frustration at the previous evening’s events. Who did Loric think he was? How dare he? _I did nothing._ He was a damned fool. He knew very well what he had done, and no amount of miserable eyes and pained looks could change that.

                _I suppose that’s that._

                Her sword strikes wood. Damn him!

 

                We’re meeting for the first game at the end of next week, just after sundown. If you come a little early, I’ll go through the hands with you.

                -- V.T.

 


	2. letter set 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra: Is that why you never use my name? To disarm me?  
> Varric: Be fair, I don't use anyone's name.

Varric --

I will admit, the game was fun. I will also admit that you are an adequate teacher. I suspect you are holding back, however. I know you cheated, though Josephine cheats better. I pity the commander.

I keep thinking about the way Loric used the Knight-Captain’s name. It means something to her, and if she allows him to say it without complaint, it must mean something to them both. I think, too, about how he gave in to her anger so quickly. She is a force, he understands that. How hard it must be for him, now, knowing that she still believes he’s done such a terrible thing. And yet, he helps her. In spite of it all, he helps her.

I think you are getting soft, Varric. Or perhaps you always have been, and I simply have not noticed.

\--C

 

 

Seeker,

                Names are powerful, in the right moment. Why do you think Buttercup never gets Corypheus’s name right? It disarms him, in a way - makes him weak in her mind. It’s something to hold onto, especially these days.

                Are you starting to warm up to the guy?? Whatever happened to “cheap displays of emotion” and “men always ask for second chances”? Are you perhaps conceding that he’s a little more complex than you first gave him credit for? Maybe you’re the one going soft ~~which wouldn’t be a bad~~ Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.

                Ruffles is ruthless. I think I could go toe to toe with her on my best day, but I daren’t - I already owe her a few favours, and I like to leave the game with my dignity intact. Still, you did well - you’re picking up the point of the game, which is more important than any of the rules. And I’m _offended_ that you think I’d go easy on you, Seeker! When have I ever done that before?

                -- V.T.

 

 

Varric--

 

He is not so terrible, I suppose. He seems a bit like you, in that way. I stand by my former judgments, and I will not pardon men just yet, but I will admit, I have grown a bit fond of him, in a rather short time.

Is that why you never use my name? To disarm me?

\--C

 

 

Seeker,

                Be fair, I don't use anyone's name. And not because I want to disarm you (I'm not entirely sure that's possible) but because names are important. Besides, you'd be confused if I started calling you ~~Cassa~~ by your actual name. I imagine there'd be a lot more stabbing feelings.

                 ~~Cassan~~       _ ~~fuck it~~_    ~~Cassand~~

                 ~~A bit like me?~~

                Curly won't play until Ruffles is too busy to. Hopefully we can get a game in before the trip to the Emprise next month. I'll keep you informed. Oh, and blame the Kid for the delay in writing - I had an idea and he took it out of my head and now it doesn't sit right. Not his fault, but still.

\-- V.T.

 

 

Varric--

I do not always feel like stabbing things. I only feel that way some of the time. And I would certainly not be confused - I know what my name is, I frequently respond to it.

I do not envy your trip to Emprise. The cold is unbearable, though I would think you’d prefer not to travel there. From what I understand, there is a great deal of red lyrium.

Whatever the case, I would not say no if you offered another lesson. The only person I did better than was Cullen, and that was disappointing.

\--C

 

 

Seeker –

                I’ll bear that in mind. Not that I’m going to start calling you ~~Cassan~~ _~~fuck~~ _ by your name any time soon, but at least I know I’m safe.

                I’m kidding, by the way.

                Yeah, the Inquisitor invited me along to help get rid of the red lyrium. I’m not sure how much is out there, but I’m fairly confident we can make a dent in their supplies. Damned stuff needs to be gone. But I’m not looking forward to the cold. Still, I ordered another five pairs of socks from the requisition officer, so hopefully they’ll turn up before we go next week.

                Curly’s in - Ruffles has a prior engagement. Tomorrow night. And I’m more than happy to help you try and beat everyone else, Seeker. We can get a few rounds in beforehand. I’ll be around the inn for most of the afternoon anyway.

                -- V.T.

 

 

Varric--

I don’t know if beating Dorian counts for much either, but it was more enjoyable than the last time. It is fortunate I suppose that Cullen was able to retain his clothing.

Please stay ~~safe~~ warm. I doubt five pairs of socks will be enough.

I did wonder -- I will not be joining you. Write to me, while you are away? Only if you have time, of course. It will no doubt be a very difficult and time consuming excursion. But should the opportunity arise, know that it would be appreciated.

\--C

 

 

Seeker –

                Managed to finally write this last night. Let me know what you think - I’m sure your reaction will be a nice distraction when I’m out there.

                -- V.T.

 

[ _enclosed on a fresh sheet of vellum_ ]

Durren returns late in the evening, a bloodied nose for his troubles but Hilda in handcuffs, which is something of a result. The Knight-Captain insists that he get patched up before filling her in, but lingers as one of the medics resets his nose and the report becomes quite the informal affair.

                “You know how they say there’s no smoke without fire? Turns out we didn’t take into account the smoke of a pipe.”

                “That is technically -” She starts to correct him but he continues.

                “Loric Brondwin was our prime suspect, right? But we didn’t have enough evidence. That’s because someone did a shit jib of framing him. Hilda’s been helping an apostate lay low, and I think it was him. I sent a few of the boys to the house to see what they could find, but the guy bolted and Hilda covered his escape, hence my - ow!” There is a sharp crunch as his nose is reset, followed by a string of colourful curse words.

                The Knight-Captain, however, feels the first inklings of concern. Loric was… innocent? An apostate on the loose? How could she have been so sloppy? She goes over the facts again in her head, brow furrowing in that way that usually meant trouble for someone. The boat had belonged to Loric. The invoices for the goods were all under his name. The man she had killed to save her own neck… she had seen him before, at Loric’s mansion. It had all made so much sense at the time, but without anything conclusive they had been unable to pursue it - and with her own leg broken she had let the case grow cold as she had recovered, and by the time she had come back the city had needed her on other cases…

                _Maker forgive me_ , she thinks. _Was I wrong?_

                No. He was guilty of something - his demeanour and apologies were for something. He was not the type of man who acted that way over nothing. She simply had to find the truth of it all, and that would start with him and the apostate’s belongings.

Two cases, side by side. The work never ended.

                “Knight-Captain?” Durren’s voice is muted as his nose is strapped up. “Once we find the apostate, there might still be a connection to Brondwin, but given the recent resurgence in magic-related crimes I’d say he’s not our man.”

                She nods, swallowing. “I suppose that’s that,” she says quietly.

 

 

Varric--

Do you know a woman this stubborn? Maker take her, this is a terrible fate. To be so suspicious, so often, particularly of a man who obviously cares for her. Perhaps all he is guilty of is ~~loving~~ no I can’t say that, I don’t his heart, or hers, in truth. What I know is that perhaps this is a chance for her to find the truth on her own. She will not believe it otherwise. She will not trust anyone to learn it for her. I know the feeling well.

Cullen received word from the Inquisitor this morning. Snow banks and more red lyrium than we suspected. Quite a bit more, actually. Please, be careful. All of you. Come back to us in one piece.

\--C

 

 

Seeker –

                some bits of things. will make them longer later. just ideas

                -- V.T.

 

[ _slip of parchment_ ]

Anneline, you don’t need to apologize

                                                sorry isn’t necessary

                                                                ~~don’t have to~~                 I know, I always knew

 

[ _slip of parchment_ ]

                                her hands are warm in his. She doesn’t pull away

 

 

Varric--

Are you well? Do not lie.

\--C

 

 

                                no

[ _slip of parchment_ ]

                its cold and its everywhere and its loud. always loud. nobody else hears it. i hate it.

 

 

Varric--

No more stories, not from you. Have I ever told you one? Anthony had many. I remember few.

\--C

[ _slip of vellum_ ]

There were three daughters, each in line for the throne. The first two were married young, but the third would not. Their mother died and, in his grief, their father chartered a ship. He would sail without end until he died. The husband of the first daughter went to find him, but did not return. The second husband went to find them both, and did not return. None of the men in their city would go. So the youngest daughter took her own money, bought a ship of her own, and found them all. She left them at the docks and then sailed away. She did not return, and she was happy.

Anthony said she met a dashing rogue, and they lived forever on the sea, even after death.

 

 

                demon. killed it. you would have made it quicker. leaving.

                dashing rogue sounds like rivaini. sure this is a story? (mostly kidding)

                _thank you_ x

 

 

Varric--

Anthony knew many pirates. You should ask if she knew my brother.

~~I have missed you. Your spot in the hall grows cold. Be safe. Be sound. I have no more stories, but I have no truth--~~

Travel safely. Skyhold is a different place without you.

\--C

 

 

Seeker --

                Firstly… thank you. As you might have guessed, I wasn’t my usual cheery self whilst I was away, but your letters were a good reminder of ~~what I was missing~~ why I needed to come back and get better. A few days rest and a good drink and I’m right as rain.

                This tea, by the way, is fantastic. Nevarran, right? You know, you said I’d hate the place but so far I’ve only found that really good things come from there. A little spicy at first, but warming and good. ~~Like you.~~ Must be something in the water. Thanks, again.

                So! The Emprise is a shit-hole. It’s not even winter, but it’s the coldest place I have ever been. Seriously, Seeker, have you ever been? It’s literally colder than the Iron Lady’s stare. I am amazed that people are living here. Well, lived. There were some survivors still holding on, but I don’t think they’ll hang around.

                Apparently this was a good mining community, once, but I think that’s going to be ancient history. The mines were full of Templars and red lyrium. And it was so _loud._ I’m glad the Kid wasn’t here, honestly - I know he hears it too. I still don’t understand how you can’t, but… it’s a blessing for you, trust me. That place was the trifecta of Things Varric Tethras Hates - the cold, the red lyrium and being underground. I was not a pleasant person to be around. Hell, I think the Inquisitor was done with my shit by the end of the second day.

                I need to buy a lot of apology drinks.

                Anyway, I’m never going back there. Ever. We did a lot of damage to their operations - smashed up a LOT of red lyrium, which was both a great idea and a terrible idea. The dust lingers in the air and sticks to your throat and - shit, Seeker, I have never felt so wretched in my life. And you know about many of my worst experiences. You know the worst of me. So believe me when I say this - I am never… ever… going back. Not even when the world is right and the dust is gone, I will never step foot in that Maker-forsaken place again.

                To better things - Ruffles has made quite the impression on certain members of the Merchants Guild back in Kirkwall. I’m getting daily letters with nothing but good news. Do you know what kind of drink she likes? I figure I owe her a bottle or two at the very least. And you, actually, seeing as it was our deal that made me turn to her in the first place. I’ll get you that nice Arlesans red you had that first game of Wicked Grace. You did like that, right? ~~Only you had a certain smile after you took that first sip and~~

                Speaking of our deal, how’re your efforts at relaxing going? Given how long we were gone, I expect you were lounging around like a noble lady, eating peeled grapes and reading risque novels aloud to Dorian. (You were, right? Don’t break my heart on this, Seeker!)

                Oh, and I’m sorry I couldn’t write more whilst I was gone. The stuff I sent you… it’s a bit… well, it’s not great. I’ll work on it, write you something real good to make up for it. After all, you wrote me a fantastic story - it kept me going in the dark when nothing else could.

                Thank you.

\-- V.T.

 

 

Varric--

That tea is one of the only things I truly remember about my mother. She loved and took her tea the same way, I suppose. Strong, excessive, bold, any number of descriptors that I’m sure you could do better coming up with. It is supposed to rejuvenate the spirit. She drank it after long meetings and weeks away from home. ~~I think she drank it the day she died.~~

The lyrium makes me ill. I remember losing Anthony too vividly for comfort. Even the smallest pieces make my skin crawl. I would no doubt be useless to anyone in that place, and you are right to never return. I’m sure you do not owe as many apologies as you think. The Inquisitor knows how it affects you. We all do. If only because you remind everyone, but also because we care. No one could blame you for being on edge. I know you think of your brother often.

You should certainly give Josephine something. She prefers sweet wines, they make her think of home. As for myself, it won’t be necessary to give me anything -- but I would not say no to a glass or two during another hour of practice when you are feeling up to it. But, please, rest first.

Unfortunately, I was quite busy while you were away. Leliana’s agents have been scouting for traces of the Seekers, and I believe we are getting close to finding something. There are rumors in the South, but I had been tracking their locations long before that. There were sometimes grapes involved, but they were not peeled. Regardless, I believe I may be close to finally knowing what has happened to my people.

 ~~You were hurting, you wrote what you felt, I cannot fault you for any of it~~ I apologize for the story. It was not very good. Anthony told it better, and with voices.

\--Cassandra

 

 

Seeker --

                That’s a good memory to hold onto. My mother didn’t drink tea - not many dwarves do, really. It’s not a hard and fast rule, just not something the exiled ones are really fond of. The Stone’s supposed to keep you warm, after all. I, however, am a terrible dwarf. ~~Mother always sai~~              

                Whilst I’m disappointed on behalf of your sense of fun that you didn’t get much downtime in my absence, I know this search is important. If you need anything, let me know, right? I’m not trying to pry at your secret order, I just - if you want help, you’re not alone. We’re all here for you if you need us. Even if it’s to unwind. That, I am very good at.

                I know I’m rarely serious, but I wasn’t kidding. I’m sure Anthony’s version was great, but you told it perfectly. ~~Well, not perfectly, but~~ It was what I needed.

                 ~~Do you do the voices too? I bet you do, with a smile on your fa~~

                If you’ve got a spare hour or two this week, we can split a bottle whilst we work on your game face? I think with a little work, you could give the Inquisitor a real challenge. Your tells are a little obvious, though. We can work on that.

\-- V.T.

 

 

Varric--

You would have liked Anthony. He was a storyteller, like you, but he kept them close to his heart. He never met a stranger, and for all that I was cautious in my youth, Anthony was free. ~~He would hate what I did to you. He would hate that I held a grudge as long as I have~~ Regardless, I am glad the story did some good. I don’t have many, and I remember so few of his, but that as always my favorite. I thought it was quite romantic, as a girl.

I appreciate your offer for help, truly. There is still much work to be done, and the Inquisitor has promised to assist, for which I am grateful. I will keep you informed. It is, at least, good to know that some trace of the Seekers is still there.

If there is time, yes, I would of course enjoy a bit of practice. I was unaware my face could be so obvious. You will have to enlighten me.

\--Cassandra

 

 

Seeker --

                I can see why you thought that. It’s very you - a young woman claiming her life as her own. I mean, apart from all the disappearances, obviously.

                You of all people should know that faces are always telling a story - that’s how you spot the liars, after all. In the game, it’s easy to spot certain tells, but it’s also easy to hide them too. If you’re free tomorrow, I’ll go over your more obvious ones.

                -- V.T.


	3. interlude: the emprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Seeker --_
> 
> _Firstly… thank you. As you might have guessed, I wasn’t my usual cheery self whilst I was away, but your letters were a good reminder of ~~what I was missing~~ why I needed to come back and get better. A few days rest and a good drink and I’m right as rain._

They were camped out near the Keep – not close enough as to raise suspicion, but close enough for Varric to feel even worse than usual. The Emprise was almost a wasteland, home to the dead and the dying, and he could hear the singing everywhere.

He was almost sure he could hear his own death, calling to him. He was almost sure it sounded _enticing_.

The Inquisitor's hand lingers at his shoulder, but he pulls away, huddling around himself as the snow begins to fall again. The veilfire is hardly warming, but it is better than no fire, and the snow had dampened too much of their wood. The others talk, their words no more than a buzzing in his ear.

He feels hollowed out, exhausted by just existing. He wants to go home. He is not sure where home is. Perhaps it is across the sea. Perhaps it is atop the mountain.

Perhaps it is the Stone to which he will no doubt return. That thought lingers, the memory of crushing darkness and caves all too real.

And so it is some time before he notices the smudge of black hopping around in the ocean of white at his feet, the crow chittering away to him as he moves with sluggish hands to untie its message. He takes a breath, about to call the Inquisitor over, but the familiar writing of the Seeker stops him.

This was for his eyes alone.

He tries to remember his last missive to her, clawing at the memory. It had been short, no doubt – he could barely hold himself still enough to write. He vaguely remembers trying to write her some of the story he had been working on, but he cannot recall.

Regardless, she appeared to have plenty to say.

His fingers trace along the lines, and he can hear her cadence through the page. The extra stress on the right words, the hesitation with each sentence end, as if there ought to be more to say. As if she had realised a better way to phrase it, too late. His lips curve into a half-smile, a huff of breath as he imagines her hands curling around one another, unused to the expressive nature of storytelling.

His heart warms, the song distant.

She had written him a story – the most Seeker-like story he had ever heard, a tale of a woman claiming her freedom and living her life on her terms. She thought it romantic. He was not even remotely surprised.

But it was a welcome respite from the shit around him, and he treasures it, treasures the fact that they had come from such a darkness to find a place of friendship and trust once more. That she cared enough to try... it was a miracle, and not one he would forget soon.

He folds the vellum carefully, slowly, tucking it between his shirt and his skin – close to his heart, a reminder of the warmth still in the world.

_Cassandra_ , he thinks, and his stomach flares with warmth.


	4. letter set 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric: I promise, Cassandra. The dawn will come. You’ll be alright.  
> Cassandra: I would prefer if the dawn stayed away. I should like to rest.

Seeker --

                You just left? You just fucking left?

                ~~You know, it’s the hypocrisy I relish the most. You were so quick to jump down my throat when I had to deal with my personal~~

~~You can’t just~~

                ~~If you get hurt, I swear I will~~

                ~~I’m not exactly hiding in the hall. You could have grabbed me. I would have helped.~~

                Come ~~home~~ back in one piece or so help me I will - shit, I’ll withhold chapters or something.

                ~~Cassandra pleas~~

                -- V.T.

 

 

Varric -- I thought they might all be dead. The truth is far worse. Maker forgive me for all I have done, and what I may do.

[ _a note, written in the Inquisitor’s scrawl_ ]

on our way back. varric be a dear and have a servant prepare a bath for the seeker, we’ll return by sundown.

 

Varric -- I understood that you hated the lyrium. I understand better now. ~~Please forgive I cannot bear to~~ I gave everything and now it is gone. I left them. I wonder if I could have stopped it, if I hadn’t. Daniel was too sweet, too kind and now he is gone.

If you have any more of the tea to spare, it would be a comfort.

\-- C

 

 

Seeker --

                I sent off for more tea, so take as much as you need. If you run out, I’ll have more for you.

                ~~I’m sorry~~ I’m sure you’re sick of hearing how sorry everyone is by now. I know our Inquisitor has a bad habit of apologizing for everything. But that it came to this… that, I am sorry for.

                ~~I wish you didn’t underst~~

                ~~You’re still~~

                It hurts, but you can’t let that hurt define you. You can’t, because a purpose born of pain can only give you more of the same. I’ve seen it before, and ~~I can’t watch you become lost like~~ I know it’s hard, and you have a lot of mourning to do, and you should. You absolutely should. But believe me, you’ll be alright.

                I promise, Cassandra. The dawn will come. You’ll be alright.

                -- Varric

 

 

Varric--

~~Daniel was my apprentice. They gave him red lyrium. I cannot--~~

~~There is too much truth, they gave me too much~~

No one is as sorry as I. You say the hurt cannot define me, as if it is a simple thing. It is a pity you were not there when Anthony died. The hurt consumed me. I thought it had made me strong enough to withstand this, but it was just another waste.

It has all been wasted.

I would prefer if the dawn stayed away. I should like to rest.

~~I do not feel alright.~~

Thank you for the tea.

\--Cassandra

 

 

 ~~See~~ Cassandra --

                ~~Fuck~~

                If you had stayed, you might have been forced to take red lyrium. If you’d stayed, you might have suffered worse. You might have died. Shit, I’d probably be dead too, the amount of times you’ve saved my ass. The Inquisitor would be dead. The Conclave would have led to war, without you to form the Inquisition. And you might have been leading the charge from the wrong side of the battlefield.

                ~~I couldn’t~~

                You want to second-guess yourself because you think you failed them - that you failed him. But this was out of your hands. Don’t try to find reason in the madness. We can’t lose you too. The world still needs a Seeker.

                ~~If you need to just sit in silence with~~

                ~~I didn’t know Anthony but from what you’ve told me of him, he would~~

                ~~Shit I usually have words~~

                Rest. The world can wait a little longer. Take as long as you need. ~~I’m~~ We’re here when you need us.

                --  Varric

 

 

Varric --

Will the world want a Seeker, when it discovers what we have done? What was done to us? How quickly did we fall, how much was lost?

You were not there. You did not see. I suppose that is my fault. I suppose I could have brought everyone, and they could have witnessed the scraps of my order, dying.

But I do live. I suppose that is the one good thing to come of all this. I live, and there is still more to do.

Tell me about Anneline and Loric.

He loves her, doesn’t he?

\-- Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra --

 

                ~~I’d take you over the whole Order any da~~

                ~~Not helping.~~

 

                He does not expect her to come back.

                And yet she does, all quiet contemplation and watchful eyes. He manages a smile as she is shown into the main room.

                “Knight-Captain.”

                There is a strange look in her eyes as she meets his gaze. “Back to titles, dwarf?”

                He laughs softly. “I rather assumed I had lost the right to call you by name. After all, I am apparently the one who betrayed you.”

                She nods, straightening for a moment as the servants bring wine before leaving.

                He picks up his cup. “I assume you're here to arrest me.” She replies, too quiet for him to hear, and his wit manages a response. “Come now, I'm going deaf in my old age, you'll have to -”

                “I was wrong,” she repeats, clearer as she steps forward. “I... assumed, based on facts I knew to be connected. But it was not you, was it?”

                He swallows, shaking his head. “I would never,” he murmurs, repeating words he meant with every fibre of his being. To betray Anneline was to betray his -

                “Then why?”

                “What?”

                “Why did you stay away? Why did you let me go? I thought – perhaps I thought wrong, but we were close.” There is a pained expression behind her eyes, and he can feel his chest tighten at the very notion that he might have hurt her again.

                “I might not have betrayed you,” he says quietly, “but I wronged you nonetheless. I didn't know what would happen, I swear, but if I had been there – if I had met you like I said I would -”

                “We might both be dead,” she reasons. “After all, I was not unscathed.” A ghost of a smile pulls at her lips. “And I can hardly be expected to babysit you in a fight.”

                “Anneline -”

                “You stayed away to punish yourself, did you not?” She steps again, close enough to touch. “You let me think such awful things about you. For what?”

                “I didn't -” His voice threatens to crack, and he swallows again. “I didn't deserve you. I _don't_ deserve you, not after letting you down.”

                She looks surprised, eyes widening – those beautiful expressive eyes that gave away so much of her heart's machinations. His own beats obscenely loud in his chest.

                His eyes linger for a moment on the curve of her lips, the strong cheekbones and nose that gave her face such a commanding presence. Once, a long time ago, he had thought her striking. How under-appreciative he had been. She was divine, and he was hopelessly doomed.

                “You can't be surprised, after everything we went through together. I love you, ~~Cassandra, and I was a fool for~~ **Anneline**.” He smiles again, shrugging. “I -

 

[ _the rest of the page is torn off_ ]

 

 

 

Varric--

I should congratulate you. You have convinced me of Loric’s goodness twice over, now. It is not so easy to love a woman such as her. Especially when she has done so much. Not to him, not really, but he has felt it. The pain. It is real. Her ache is real. The need. They do feel that for one another, do they not? He desires her in more ways than he can describe. She is brave to admit she’s wrong. He is brave to confess.

I only wonder if she can do the same. If she can confess her feelings. It is difficult to do so, when so much of your life is spent hardening your heart to the world.

Does she? Does she love him in return? Do you know? Perhaps you don’t. Perhaps her feelings are hidden from even you. That is how writing can be sometimes, can it not? I think she does.

I think she loves him very much.

\--Cassandra

 

[ _another page, blotted with ink, stuck to the back. most of it is illegible_ ]

 

                                                tell me what you feel, ~~how could i~~

~~will drive me mad with this~~

My heart, Varric, it                                                          ~~how is this not the same, this ache~~                          

                                I do not know

                                                                                                                [ _the last line, completely blacked out_ ]

                                                                                                                                ~~it is yours.~~

 

 

Seeker --

 

                I’m glad you like him. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure he’s all that good for her, but the heart wants what the heart wants. And you’re right, I don’t entirely know how she feels. I’d like to think she does, but it doesn’t ~~ever~~ always work out the way I’d like it to.

                Anyway, it probably won’t make it into the final edit like that. It’s from the wrong perspective. I’ll work on it, see where it goes. There’s still the apostate lead to follow up on, and I haven’t quite nailed that down yet either.

                A few of us are having a drink later, if you’re up for company. No cards, Curly and Josie are both in attendance.

                -- V.T.

 

 

 

Varric--

You were not at your desk this morning, and I hardly saw you in the tavern last night. Is everything alright? I understand I was not forthcoming about Caer Oswin and the Seekers, but I regret that, now. You were right. Everyone is there to help, and I understand that better now. I won’t make that mistake again.

So please, if something is wrong, tell me. Won’t you?

I remembered a story for you, last night. But it is only a story because I remember it. It happened to Anthony and I when we were children. We thought we would run away from our uncle and become like the dragon slayers of old. But fifteen minutes into our escape, I became so hungry I insisted we return and get something to eat.

We did not leave again. I couldn’t bear to leave my uncle’s cook behind. She made the most delicious sweets for me as a girl. Sometimes the cook here makes little cakes. Cole brings them to me. I have never needed to ask. I regret being cruel toward him before.

I regret so much. But I suppose if I did not, then I would be impossible to be around.

\--Cassandra

 

 

Seeker --

 

                Sorry I’ve been a little all over the place - the Kid’s having a crisis of being. Chuckles insists he should be more spirit-y. Idiot doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Everyone has a choice. Anyway, we’ll be in the Hinterlands for a few days following up a lead for him.

                You don’t need to feel bad about wanting to protect yourself. I know that feeling. I’m glad you know ~~I’m~~ we’re here for you. We always will be, Seeker.

                ~~I’m fine. I’m always fi~~

                The great and noble Seeker, slain by her own hunger! That’s ~~adorable~~ very sweet. The Kid mentioned you like the little honeyed cakes, but I didn’t realise he was your supplier. He’s good like that - always knows what you need before you do, and never asks for anything. I’m still trying to work out what we can all do for him in return. Let me know if you have any ideas, yeah?

A life without regrets is impossible. What makes them worthwhile is learning from them. Or, at least, that’s what wiser men than me would say, probably. ~~I’m not sold on the theory but I’ve got more regrets than most.~~

                I’ll try and get some more writing done on the way to Redcliffe. I suppose you’ll be avoiding Ruffles until a decision is made about our supposed uniforms for this ball? If you need somewhere to hide, I suggest the top floor of the inn, where the Kid usually is. The chair’s not half bad, and the light’s good enough for reading. We’ll be back before week’s end.

                -- V.T.

 

 

Varric--

Josephine has not asked my opinion because she is certainly aware of how I feel about these frivolous things. But I understand that she has no intention of forcing me into a dress. It would hardly make sense, I have not been fitted since I was sixteen, and she will have to hunt me down to do anything of the sort. There are some things I will not budge on.

Solas is well intentioned, I'm sure, but if Cole wants to be more human, you are the best person for the job. He is sweet and earnest. You will guide him well.

Cole loves to hear stories. Perhaps you should tell him one?

Unfortunately while you are gone I must sort through the documents and book I was given by the Lord Seeker. There are so many secrets. So many truths.

Travel well. Tell Cole we will pick up where we left off when he returns. He will know.

\--Cassandra

 

 

Seeker --

 

                ~~Whilst the idea of you in a dress is~~

                _~~legs~~_

                Yeah, I can’t see you in a dress.

                Me? A dwarf? The best person to make a spirit more human? Is this the set-up for a joke? In all seriousness, I’m not sure I’m the **best**  person, but right now I’m the one with the time. After all, you’ve got your hands full, the Inquisitor is never free, and everyone else would have some sort of agenda. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to leave out the parts about keeping secrets from your friends and generally pissing off civilised company.   

                The problem with him loving stories is he tries to take them straight from the source. I can’t keep ideas straight around him. I think he understands a bit better now, though. Hit something of a block. I haven’t managed to get anything down. I’ll try to make up for it when we get back.             Speaking of, we’re heading off now - I’ll let the Kid tell you what happened, when he’s ready to. Suffice it to say, humanity’s doing well today. Just about. He’s eating now. I think he likes sweet things too. You’ll have to treat him to that cake you like.

                -- V.T.

 

[ _folded neatly and tucked in behind the previous letter by sticky fingers_ ]

In any other romance, it would have been _him_. Him stepping forward resolutely, him curling a gentle hand under the crook of her neck, him swallowing her confusion as his lips press gently against hers.

But it is not any other romance. Theirs is the greatest romance to never have existed. And so it is _her_ who steps, wavering hands clenched into fists as the last of her doubts cling to her mind. _Her_ fingers, the hint of a tremble, gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him forward, always forward towards the man he wanted to be for her. _Her_ lips, freshly licked and awaiting their union with his as she whispers his name.

_~~Varri~~ _

be more human. That's what humans like right? Hawke always ~~says~~ said as much

not enough, to **want** to be that guy. got to become that guy. easy enough - just like moving a fucking mountain

[ _more writing, illegible and scribbled out_ ]

the greatest romance to never have existed

[ _in an untidy scrawl by a second hand_ ]

hearts beating always just out of time    one two three one two three

it aches between you. can’t you hear it?

 

 

Varric--

~~What did that letter mean, what does any of this mean, why must you~~

I am glad that your venture went well. I’m sure I will hear about it from Cole soon, and I will remember about the cakes.

Josephine has decided on something for the Winter Palace. You will detest it. There are far too many buttons, right up to the neck, but it is supposed to represent something greater than the individual. A united front. She explained it quite well but, as is often the case with our Ambassador, it was wrapped in layers of influence and references to the Game, which I detest.

~~I wish I knew what you truly felt~~

~~I wish I knew how I truly felt~~

She found me writing while you were gone, but did not pry. I have grown more comfortable with the written word over the last few months. I suppose I owe that to you. ~~I wish I could give you something in return, but I do not know if you would accept.~~

[ _later, in a less steady hand_ ]

Cole told me of what happened, ~~perhaps too much~~

I meant only that you could succeed where Solas could not because you care in a way Solas could never.

\--C

 

 

Seeker --

                Ruffles showed me the uniform. You’re right, I hate it. I’m not built for fiddly decorative pieces. And there’s no give in the fabric, how am I supposed to sit Bianca on my back in _velour?_ Colour’s alright. And it’s not like anyone’s going to be paying attention to the dwarf anyway - all eyes on the Inquisitor. Hopefully I can find a good corner to skulk in.

                Your letters are much better. I’m glad you’re more comfortable. Hell, even your stories are good. You’ll be giving ME a run for my money next, Seeker. I can see it now - The Tales of The Inquisition, by Cassandra Pentaghast. Bestseller, mark my words.

                Chuckles wants what’s best for the Kid - what’s best for his nature. But he’s got the right to choose, the right to fuck up as much as the rest of us. Maybe in time he’ll regret that, I don’t know. All I know is right now, this is what he wants. The first thing I’ve ever seen him WANT. So he should be helped. And I can do that - maybe not as well as you or Sparkles or Buttercup, but everyone’s got something to do.

                Speaking of Sparkles, he wants to try and claw back some dignity over a card game. You still want to go over tells?

                -- V.T.

                ~~PS: You’re teaching him to~~

                ~~you laughed~~

                PS: Do you want to hear about Loric and Anneline, or do you want to hear about the apostate next?

 

 

Varric--

I wouldn’t dare think I could write something about this Inquisition. If I am not hanged for failing, then I will likely fall into obscurity, as would be fitting of my position. It will be bad enough being in Orlais around fools who think they know the story of my first meeting with the Divine -- I hardly need anything else for them to misconstrue. The only good thing about the uniforms, apart from being _not_ a dress, is that we will all look the same. We will all be the same.

It will be a relief, I think.

My stories are not good, but I will concede my letters, and my confidence in writing them, have improved. ~~You have helped me so much, how could I have ever known before, when I was~~

Cole did tell me how he felt, in very vivid detail. I have never seen him as happy as when he returned from Redcliffe. You should be proud. Even Solas should be proud. He was allowed to make a decision, his _own_ decision. I could not have helped him. I could not have been there for him like that. ~~The dancing lessons are hard enough~~ Did you know he can sketch? Beautifully.

Perhaps we should cover tells after Halamshiral. There is much to prepare beforehand. Our Inquisitor is rather hopeless on their feet, according to Josephine. I have been recruited to assist.

\--C

~~PS: I don’t give a damn about the apostate~~

PS: I should like to know about the two of them, yes. If you’ve the time.

 

 

Seeker --

                She stares at him.

                “You… you love me?” Her eyes bore into his. “Loric -”

                “I know, I know, it’s ridiculous.” He pulls back, reaching for the bottle. She feels his absence. “After everything I did, and after so long… it’s ridiculous, that I can cling to sentiment and hope. Most cynical person I know, and yet where you were concerned I always held onto the idea that what we almost had could have become… something.”

                The memory of their closeness is all-too familiar. She, too, had once thought it might lead to something wonderful, but… then came the docks, and his apparent betrayal. She could not let him back into her heart after that.

                Could she?

                He drains the glass, taking a deep breath. “I love you. I have done for a long time. And I know you could never feel the same way, I don’t… I don’t expect you to. After all, I’m a rogue. I’ve lied more times than I’d ever admit to. I’m not here to make the world a better place, I’m here to make sure I get remembered.” He smiles, a world away from his usual enthusiasm. “And you’re a ~~See~~ Knight-Captain, a warrior without compare. Honest to the bone, as beautiful as you are commanding, and I never…”

                He meets her eyes.

                “I never stood a chance.”

 

                I’ve not seen any of his drawings. I’ll ask him about it when I get a chance. What does he draw? People? Places?

\-- V.T.

 

 

Varric--

Loric’s words are so beautiful. There’s such honesty in them. I envy his resolve. Thank you for continuing to write, despite everything. It was a relief to find this yesterday evening, after all the preparations. I have been poring over blueprints for the Winter Palace with the Commander for days now. Every possible threat is being reviewed, and even when we are done, I do not think we will be completely prepared.

We must simply act. We can prepare for weeks, but it will come upon us sooner than we think, and if we are caught up in trying to know what might happen, we will be surprised by what will. As with Loric. He believes she will reject him, he is so caught up in the fact that he is unworthy, but what does he truly know of the situation? He could be surprise. She could love him as ardently as he does her. ~~You~~ He does not know her heart completely.

I’m sure if you asked, Cole would show you his work. He sketches from memory, people mostly. He has a very colorful one of you. I think you would like it.

 ~~You stand a chance with me.~~ I do not like the ones of myself, but he says they are supposed to be honest. I do not truly know what he means.

\--C

 

 

Seeker --

                Loric knows what he is - who he is - and he knows he isn’t good enough for someone like ~~you~~ her. I mean, come on! ~~You’re~~ She’s everything he’s not. How could it ever work out? I’m a writer, not a miracle worker. ~~I can’t just~~ I’m just saying, based on what I know? She’ll find someone better.

                He’ll survive.

            I understand your point of view, but sometimes a little foreknowledge can go a long way. Having your back covered is always an idea I’ll support. I’ve gone in half-cocked too many times and come out the worse for it. But it can’t be fun having to do the actual planning for something so big. ~~If you need a break, I’m pretty sure I owe you a drink~~

                Make sure you take a break, alright? I’m still gonna hold you to our deal.

                -- V.T.

 

 

~~Why can’t you just tell me, why can’t you just say it, why can’t I say it, why must you do this to me, over and over~~

~~I am not stupid, I can see, I know what you~~

~~I lo--~~

Varric --

At least he had the gall to tell her. To say it out loud. At least he does not make her feel like he could never speak the words. At least she knows, now. The whole truth. At least he isn’t hiding behind ~~a story~~ fear.

It is a pity she was too proud to say it first, and to say it now.

We leave for Halamshiral in two days. Rest, if you can.

\--C

 

 

                                                ~~Cassandra I love you~~

Seeker --

                You seem convinced she must feel the same way. I guess you’re the type of person who likes happy endings. It’s not always possible, you know that, right? ~~Sometimes people just can’t It’s not like I can just~~ ~~You’re better than this, better than me, and when you reali~~

                I’ll write something better. After the ball. Don’t say I never do anything nice for you.

                 ~~Shit. I’m too old for~~

                At least I don’t have to wear the damned uniform for too long.

\-- V.T.   

 

 

[ _unsent, illegible_ ]

  ~~I don’t want something better I want you~~

  ~~I love you why am I such a fool~~

  ~~This ache is terrible, I would remove it, but I fear removing you~~

  ~~I love you, and whatever we are doing it is not enough I need more, I _need---_~~

 


	5. interlude: caer oswin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is too exhausted to cry, to mourn Daniel.
> 
> She hopes what she does will someday be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm weatheredlaw, and i play fast and loose with canon dialogue

They ride alone. She and the Inquisitor. For the briefest moment, Cassandra lingers near Varric’s rooms, and she almost considers waking him, asking him to come with her. But it is late, and Caer Oswin is hardly a night’s journey. She must do this. He will be angry, she suspects – after all, she has done nothing but harangue him for putting the stress of his business on his shoulders alone. She has done nothing but pester him into accepting Josephine’s aid, into understand that there are so many at Skyhold who would help him, if he’d only ask.

And here she is, saddling her horse. Blackwall is watching, and she suspects if there is anyone in this keep who might understand, it is him. But, he does not offer to join. He simply observes, gives them a nod of his head once they are set. Cassandra acknowledges him, and leads the Inquisitor out of the keep. She will deal with the consequences later. For now, she rides toward the inevitable present. She won’t let fear creep in, though it threatens to do so with every passing moment. The Inquisitor does not speak much – they understand that this is Cassandra’s task alone. But it is good to have them there. It is good to have a friend.



* * *

 

 

Cassandra does not expect to find what she does. She does not expect the cultists. She has met few of the Order of Fiery Promise, but known their threat most of her adult life. It is…a blow. To her sensibilities, to everything she has believed. The red lyrium resistance seems strange to her.

“I didn’t know that Seekers could be,” the Inquisitor murmurs, taking the letter from Cassandra’s hand. “Is that true?”

“I did not know it was, but if it is, it would explain why so few have joined the Red Templars. If any.” She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I was never told that, but it changes nothing.”

The Inquisitor puts a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. “We’ll find them.”

“I know.”

Cassandra turns and follows the Inquisitor deeper into the castle. She wonders what Varric would have to say on the matter. Something anecdotal, no doubt. A story. Something to cheer her up. He’s become quite adept at it, and she curses herself for missing it, now. She thinks on it, as she cuts down another cultist, as she shoulders open one door after another. She thinks on what he might say, until she can very nearly hear his voice in her head.

It is almost enough to make her smile, despite it all.

She throws open yet another door, and she is not prepared for what she sees.

“ _Daniel!_ ” Cassandra rushes to him, rushes to the sweet boy that was her apprentice for so long.

“Cassandra? It… _is_ you. You’re alive.”

“As are you. I am so glad I found you.” She wants to hold him, crush him in her own embrace – but he is ill, he is _dying_ , and she does not know what to say. “What…happened to you?”

“They put…a demon. Inside me. Tearing me up—”

“You cannot be possessed—”

“No possessed. They…fed me something. I can feel it _growing—_ ”

“Red lyrium…” Cassandra takes his hand in hers.

“The Lord Seeker—”

“Yes, we will find him—”

“No. It was him. He…he did this. He betrayed us. He’s been working with them, all along.”

“But we saw him, in Val Royeaux.”

“That’s not him. It’s a demon. He…let it. Become him. While he was here. He sent us each away, to this place, on some important mission. And then they attacked us. Everyone is…they are dead, Cassandra. So many are dead.” He coughs. “Please,” he says. “Don’t leave me here.”

“Oh, _Daniel._ ” Cassandra feels her heart skip a beat. Her chest tightens. She can remember his first days with her so clearly. Young and eager. “You should have come with me,” she whispers – any louder and she knows her voice will break. “You did not believe in the war any more than I.”

“You know me. Wanted that promotion.”

Cassandra shudders. “Go to the Maker’s side, Daniel. You will be welcome there.” She pulls the dagger from her belt and bends down to press dry lips to his red, red temple. “I shall not forget you.”

 

* * *

 



“Join us, Cassandra.” She feels her skin prickle with anger. “It is the Maker’s _will._ ”

That, she cannot stand by. She lashes out, drawing her sword. He has taken everything from her. He has taken Daniel, taken her Order, taken her _family._ He will die by her hand, as so many have died by his. The Inquisitor does not stop her, and she suspects she could not _be_ stopped. Every clash of their blade brings her a step closer to retribution, to something _more._ She is hollow, cored out and left for dead. He has robbed her, and so she will ruin him.

“He was insane,” she murmurs, looking down at Lucius’ face. “He had to be.”

“All these wasted lives,” the Inquisitor says.

“He cannot have destroyed all of us. I will not believe it.” Cassandra bends down and lifts the Book, the one held by the Lord and Lady Seekers before Lucius. “I must read this,” she says, though every fiber of her being demands that she not.

“Let’s find a camp,” the Inquisitor says. “We’ll head back tomorrow.”



* * *

 

 

Cassandra has only a moment to write before she succumbs to the day.

_Varric -- I thought they might all be dead. The truth is far worse. Maker forgive me for all I have done, and what I may do._

In the morning, the letter is gone from beside her bedroll, but neither she nor the Inquisitor mentions it. They set out, and are at Skyhold by sundown.

There is a great copper tub in her room, freshly filled and steaming. Cassandra tosses the book onto her writing desk, strips out of her armor, and slides into the hot bath.

She is too exhausted to cry, to mourn Daniel.

She hopes what she does will someday be enough.

 


	6. interlude: halamshiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dance with me,” he says suddenly. He angles himself toward her, hands hanging down at his side, now. “Just one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [7:27:38 PM] v: fucking hell that's going to kill them  
> [7:27:45 PM] v: I AM SO EXCITED
> 
> or: weatheredlaw shows vehlr the next chapter, and we keep doing this anyway.

Josephine eagerly shows Cassandra their uniforms for the Winter Palace, and all she can manage is: “They are quite red.” Their Ambassador has the good grace to laugh, but not unkindly, and place a gentle hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. “Forgive me. I understand this was an important decision.”

“Worry not.” Josephine lifts the uniform with a flourish and folds it gently over her arms. “I know you are simply pleased it is not a gown.” Cassandra feels her face contort, and Josephine smiles. “I will leave you to your letters.” Josephine doesn’t look at the paper on Cassandra’s desk, and for that she is grateful. Cassandra waits until she can see her walking out of the forge before she returns to her task. It is certainly becoming easier.

She settles back into the ease of crafting her letter. She glances at the stack she keeps on her desk, sorted neatly and weighted by a rounded stone Cole brought her from his first trip to the Storm Coast. (“I like the rain,” he’d said. “I would like it more if it didn’t hum so loudly.”) Cassandra touches it, and smiles. She has already admitted to having been too hard on Cole. Now that he is off, making such grand decisions, she misses him. She thinks, with a panicked twist of her heart, that she misses Varric, too, though they hardly speak really.

It has become harder since –

Cassandra wills her thoughts to slow. She cannot think too hard on it. She cannot think on the scrap of paper, smudged and sticky with ink that she has not been able to find. The paper with the most illegible parts of her written out.

She wants to curse him – of course his admission would come through in that damned story, the one she has been clinging to so desperately, in any attempt of extracting some kind of confession.  

 _I love you, Cassandra, and I was a fool for_ –

“Stupid,” she murmurs, and feels that familiar twinge. “Foolish girl.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_it aches between you. can't you hear it?_

“Cole,” she murmurs. Varric doesn’t eat sweets, not that she’s seen. Just the boy, his insatiable desire for cakes challenges her own, and she smiles, even though it _hurts._

She hears it. She feels it, distinctly.

It is so constant.

Her heart hammers in her chest as she struggles to make sense, craft a response to send with the crow that delivered Varric’s own. She tries to finish it, tries to tell him something important, but drowns it in scrapes and scratches of her ink. She leaves it.

Perhaps tomorrow, it will get finished.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She is making her circle around the sparring ring, observing recruits with Cullen when they return. Cole is practically bouncing, and Varric is listening to him carefully while Solas trails behind. She tries hard not to let her gaze linger, but he catches her eye and gives her a smile. It startles her, and she stumbles and bumps into Cullen, who doesn’t seem to notice.

“Again,” the Commander calls. “Show it to me again.”

Cassandra excuses herself, but again, she may as well be invisible. She has a terrible need to run, far and fast, in circles if she might, if only to release this tension rapidly building. It is threatening to tear her in half, crush her under the weight of her own indecision.

The change in his letters.

 _Cassandra_ for so many days, and then –

 _Foolish, foolish girl._ She feels it again.

 _Why does it ache, why must it_ —

The change in her own letters. The tactical retreat of her own name from each of their pages.

 _Disarming_ , she thinks. Like Sera.

Cole finds her sitting on her only chair, reading something borrowed for Dorian.

“He helped me, like you knew he would.”

“ _Cole!_ ” Cassandra flushes and tries to hide the book, then remembers that it doesn’t really matter. “Maker take you.” She reaches out and he takes her hand. “It went well, then?”

“Yes.” He produces a little napkin stuffed with cakes and shares one with her. “But it is all growing soft now. The noise. The cakes sing less.”

“I am sorry,” she murmurs.

“I’m not. It was a good choice. Varric helped me make it.”

Cassandra smiles. “I had no doubt.”

“You never doubt him. You haven’t in so long and you’re bursting to tell him, but you—”

Cassandra raises a hand. “Not now, please.” _Not ever, perhaps._

Cole smiles. “Alright.” He kneels down to be closer to her. “Will you keep teaching me, then? I think I might learn it better now.”

“Oh.” Cassandra shakes her head. “I am sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t know if you would still want to.”

“I do. Very much.”

She nods. “Tomorrow evening, then, if I am not occupied.”

“But you always are.”

Cassandra sighs. “You know what I mean.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Hand on my waist.”

“Like this?”

“A little lower, but yes.” Cassandra lets him lead. “You know you will likely not get the opportunity to dance at the Winter Palace, do you not?”

“It’s not just for the Palace. It’s for me.”

“Of course.” Cassandra waits for Maryden to begin again. Her more somber tunes make adequate, if largely makeshift, waltzes. “At the beginning, again.”

Cole moves with her, and he makes an excellent lead. He had been quick to pick up the steps before, but he is eager to learn, now, and it shows. He smiles, and Cassandra thinks offhandedly that he needs to cut that dreadful mop of hair, eventually. Perhaps after the world stops ending, she will take care of it herself.

And for a few moments, she is lost in a dance with a boy. A good one, a sweet one. His fingers are sticky, his lips a little chafed from the cold air. She thinks of Daniel – they danced once, she taught him as well. He wanted to impress a girl, and it hadn’t worked out, but it had been worth it to surprise him with the lessons.

“You don’t think we will dance at the ball.”

“I do not.”

“Why?”

Cassandra sighs. “It…is not for us. We must be watchful. More than just lives are at stake.”

“I do not understand the Game entirely.”

“It cannot truly be understood in a matter of days. One must live it, inherit the skills.”

“You do not have them.”

“Hardly.”

Cole sighs. “They won’t let me wear my hat, will they?”

His disappointment startles a laugh from her, and he suddenly spins her, quite gracefully, and tucks her back into his arms with a smile.

“No,” she says. “They will not.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It is the first of his letters that Cassandra rips, and it surprises her that it’s taken this long.

“Fool,” she says. “ _Fool._ ” She tears it in half, crumples it and tosses it away.

 _Maker take us both_ , she thinks, and sits down to write.

_~~Cassandra I love you~~ _

_~~This ache is terrible, I would remove it, but I fear removing you~~ _

“Foolish girl,” she murmurs, and sets the paper ablaze in the candlelight.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Seeker.”

Cassandra starts – he has a habit of surprising her, in person and in writing – and looks at him.

“Varric.”

“Good night for a victory,” he says.

“Any night is made better by success.” She sips from her glass, a wine she doesn’t care for, and watches a sea of masks. “Were you injured?”

“Nah.” Varric’s hands are empty, and he folds them behind his back and leans against the wall next to her. “I really do hate these things.” He glances down at the uniform. “Good look on you, though.”

“You flatter me,” she deadpans. The look in his eyes says he is serious. She pretends she can’t see. “Have you seen—”

“Dance with me,” he says suddenly. He angles himself toward her, hands hanging down at his side, now. “Just one.”

Cassandra grips her wine glass tighter. There is a distant roaring in her ears growing louder with each passing second. She could, of course, accept. It would say something important to him, she’s certain of it. That she knows what he wrote – even though she suspects is his wiser to that than he lets on – and that she possibly reciprocates –

(and she does, how she so ardently _does_ )

“I…cannot,” she says.

His face falls.

“I’m sorry, Varric.” He seems to flinch at the sound of his name, and it is gentler on her tongue than she ever remembers it being. She is, despite everything, _endeared._ Her heart both soars and aches all at once, and she suddenly can imagine herself being led by him on an empty balcony, far away from all of this.

And she wants it. She wants it terribly.

“Right.” The break in his voice is almost silent, but she hears it. As loud as swords clamoring for attention in the yard, she hears it. And he knows, immediately, and smiles. “Hey, can’t blame a guy for trying,” he says, and turns to go.

Cassandra can’t let him walk away. Not like that.

“I would _like_ to,” she says quickly. “That is…thank you. For the offer.” She glances at the Inquisitor, scanning the room. “Perhaps…when circumstances allow.”

_Foolish girl._

“Of course.” Varric smiles and gives her a bit of an exaggerated bow. “I’ll leave you be, Lady Cassandra.”

He is gone before he can see her blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next set of letters, comin' ur way tonight


	7. letter set 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra: To dance with you, after all this, would be a gift perhaps I do not deserve.  
> Varric: You deserve so much. A dance is the least I can do for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update. this is a short one. for a reason. a sad reason, if you'd really like to know. bet that's a shocker.

Varric,

You asked me to dance at the Winter Palace. You asked and I could not have imagined a more beautiful invitation. It was like a scene from a story I read as a girl. You did, despite your misgivings, look just fine. You looked peaceful, once the fighting had ended, once we could enjoy ourselves, for the first time in weeks. You asked me to dance, and I do not want you to believe for a single moment that I did not want to. Because I did. Very much so.

But it was not a night for us to dance. You understand that, do you not? That it was not for us to enjoy. There was nothing about the Winter Palace that was for us. It was not designed so that we might enjoy it. But I wanted to. I had been practicing with Cole, and I thought, perhaps, there would be a chance. I have not danced since I was so young, and the more youthful corners of my soul pleaded for a chance.

And then you asked me, and I thought, perhaps, it could happen.

But you understand, don’t you? You know why it could not.

I do not want you to think that I was ashamed, or embarrassed. I could never be. And I do not want you to think that I find you unworthy. There was no one there worthier of a dance than you. You have been through so much, lost so much. The Inquisition did not demand it of you, and you have given it anyway. And so, you deserved to dance. With anyone. But it was not for us.

I imagined it, so clearly. Would you believe I imagined it before you asked? I suspect you know how to dance quite well, that you are an exceptional lead. I could imagine your hand on my waist, the other clutched in my own. I would have preferred to dance away from them all, and I know you would have, too. There would have been nothing that made me happier than to be your partner that evening, if only for one dance.

Perhaps, someday, we will get the chance again. I envy that future. I hope you can forgive me, if I slighted you. I did not mean to reject you, but I hope you can understand. Truly, I do.

\--Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra --

                I understand. I do, really. It wasn’t our night.

                I didn’t take it as an insult, Seeker, I promise. I asked because I heard you laugh - when you were teaching the Kid. I didn’t mean to overhear, but I was passing, and… you laughed, and it was like all that weight was gone from you. Everything you’ve suffered in the past few months, every hurt, they all vanished in that moment. And I saw you after the dust had settled, in the gardens, and I wanted you to laugh. I wanted that weight gone, if only for a moment.

                Besides, not like I’m not used to the whole ‘shame and embarrassment’ thing.

                You didn’t have to explain yourself to me, but… I’m glad you did. The way you tell it makes me sound like a much better dancer than I am, though - I had to ask Ruffles for a refresher. Hopefully when Corypheus is defeated, we can put that practice to good use.

                You know, you keep saying you can’t tell stories well, but you’ve entranced me. You always do. Seeker, you give yourself too little credit. You’re amazing.

                -- Varric

 

 

Varric--

You never fail to surprise me. I am grateful that you understand, and even more that you would like to try once more. To dance with you, after all this, would be a gift perhaps I do not deserve. I can think of no singularly good thing that I’ve done to earn it, or your praise. But I will take it, and I will cherish it. I would say that you have no idea what it means to me, but, I believe you do.

I know not a single person who is ashamed of you. And if I could find one, I would make them see the error of their ways. Or, perhaps, leave them alone with Cole. That should be a fitting punishment for someone who cannot see the truth? To be accosted with it?

I must confess, I tend to be the one entranced with you. Do you have more of Loric and Anneline’s story? Nothing grand, but, I must know.

Does she return his sentiment? Finally? How? I do not need pages and pages, I need only to know that they are of the same mind.

I seem to know the feeling, as of late.

\--Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra --

                Plenty of people have been ashamed of me, over the years. My father, my mother, Bartrand, Bianca, countless people in Kirkwall… hell, I’m not even sure Hawke wasn’t, at one point. We had a falling out a few years back - I don’t talk about it much. It’s just one of those things, you know? The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Varric Tethras will disappoint.

                I don’t want to disappoint you, though. I’m trying, Seeker. I’m really trying.

                You think you don’t deserve a dance? Cassandra, you deserve so much. A dance is the least I can do for you.

                Where did I leave off last time? Oh, right. He never stood a chance.

 

                The words fill the space between them. He had no doubt in his mind that this was it - the last moment he would be able to claim for himself, the last precious glimmer of a future he could never claim. It was a gift, to be savoured before the dark.

                And then she laughs, an impossible glorious noise, and his heart falls for her all over again. The corners of her eyes crinkle as she brings her hand to her mouth.

                “I should not - oh, Loric.” His name is a soft exhale, filled with hope. He dare not breathe. “Loric, you are a fool.”

                He manages a smile. “Yeah, well… I knew that.”

                “No, I mean -” and she steps forward again, that gentle smile lingering, “I mean you undersell yourself. You assume I could never have felt the same - that I could not feel the same way.”

                He swallows. “You… you couldn’t,” he says weakly.

                Her hands frame his face, and her warmth makes him shiver. “I did.”

                “You did?”

                She pulls him closer, and he can see it, in her eyes - the very thing he could feel in his heart. The love he had borne for so long.

                “I do,” she breathes, and he has only a moment to appreciate the truth she had given him before her lips were pressed against his.

                It was a kiss. It was their kiss, their moment, their dance, their truth, and he grabs it with every fibre of his being. His hands wrap around her waist, pulling her in closer, savouring every inch of her being pressed up against him. She makes a soft noise, fingers threading through his hair, and they finally fall into step as she opens up to him, the kiss deepening, his heart singing in his chest.

                There is a thought, a single thought in his head.

_I love you._

 

\-- Varric

 

 

Varric--

I hope you will not begrudge me the chance to give my thoughts to you now. Not maliciously of course. I only wonder - might she want to sit? Or perhaps if it continues, would he want to be able to hold her closer? Perhaps lead her to a soft place where she might lessen the distance between the two of them. After so long apart, so much time spent dancing around their feelings, she would not want to let him go.

I couldn't, if it were me. If I were to kiss ~~you~~ the man I loved, I would not want to waste a single moment. I would breathe his air. I would be almost a part of him. I would want him to know that this was _our_ kiss. This was our moment. A chance to say everything I had ever needed to, with an entire night of kisses.

How lucky, to be someone who is able to do that. How lucky to be able to kiss the one you love, without hesitation or outside agenda.

\--Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra --

                ~~Dancing around their feelings Seeker please~~

                It’s easy to assume that they can let themselves just be, in this moment. But the truth is that the world around them is still going to shit. He’s still ass-deep in a Carta clan war, she’s still embroiled in a mystery with people attacking her left right and centre. Their lives are chaos, but despite it all they’ve found a breath to share.

                You’re talking like love can be used as a tool in a war. It’s not like that, Seeker. Love has no agenda - real love, the kind everyone needs, doesn’t give a shit if you’re poor or rich, crook or hero, royalty or born in the dirt. Love’s all we’ve got in this world that isn’t fucked up.

                Still, I get it. It’s easy to hesitate. Easier still to deny it, to pretend like your heart is just a part of your body and not something that you’ve given away. Easier to lie. I know a little about lying. It’ll get you, in the end.

                ~~You know, don’t you? You know this isn’t a knight-captain and a carta~~

                I think if he moves, he won’t stop. He’s been a man starved this past year, and now he’s found his oasis. His temple. He’s not going to stop at kissing her. He’ll get down on his knees and worship her without reserve. He’s done living without her touch.

                -- Varric

 

 

Varric--

Please do not assume I have no idea what real love is. I'm aware of how it works. I'm aware of how it struggles in this world. I'm aware of how fleeting and fragile it. It can be lost in a singular moment, and then you must continue on as if you were not robbed of one final grace. The world will swallow any good thing. Perhaps that's why I sound so naive, but if I had a moment away from the chaos of this world, a single moment to pretend none of it was happening, I know precisely where I would be.

I have lied about love. I won't do it any longer.

But if we are going to continue struggling through the pretense of a story, I will ask. How does he worship her? How does he show her? Because I know for certain that she would not relish in it for long. That she would want to do the same, and show him how she feels just as well.

\--Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra --

                ~~I just don’t want you to think you can’t have~~

 

                He’d start with her lips - they’re soft, but with a power all their own, and he’s both surprised and delighted by then. His hands either side of her face, savouring the feel of her skin, the edge of her hair, he’s longed to run his hands through it, to curl fingers through it and keep her close.

                He’s not content to remain idle, though, and he’s sure she’s not either, so his fingers find new purpose in taking off some of her armour - she doesn’t need it, not with him, not here. She can let her guard down. He hopes she knows that.

                Any glimpse of skin is a gift, to be kissed tenderly - this is new territory, and he’s a stranger to it, wide eyed in wonder at the terrain. She’s lived a hard life, and her skin bears the marks. He would wonder at each story carved into her skin, pay tribute to them with great care. She’s not made of glass, he knows, but she’s earned a softer approach.

                Maybe she’ll tell him, one day, all of the stories she carries on her. She’s better with words than she thinks.

 

                ~~Can we meet for~~

                ~~shit if i keep going i’ll need to stop writing these in the hall~~

\-- Varric

 

 

[ _a wrinkled paper, obviously balled up and intended to be tossed, but straightened and sent anyway_ ]

Varric --

Do you not think that she feels the same in turn? That his body, his hands, are relics to be cared for, admired and adored? She can see the scars, those on his arms, his face, even his heart. He has as many stories as she. And she would kiss each one in turn and hear what he has to say. No more interruptions. No more outbursts. No more anger. No--

[ _a fresh sheet, the writing is rushed, almost frantic_ ]

I cannot pretend. I will not pretend, not when I have been holding back for so many weeks.

I would want you to kiss me, Varric. With force, and adoration. Because I would give nothing less in return. You deserve no less, but in fact more. All that we have suffered, all that we have sacrificed. If only for one kiss, one dance. Maker take us both, I have imagined it a hundred times, but I cannot stand behind the veil of a story a second longer.

I am without grace, I promise. I am no lithe figure, I would not flow. But when I write to you, I feel like I could become that woman. I could acquire that grace. If only for a moment.

I hate this war.

I hate that your hands are not in mine. I hate that we did not dance.

Tell me everything. I will tell you every story that I can, in time. But this one, ours, this one now, I should like to know it. No more pretenses.

Yours,

Cassandra


	8. interlude: divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She had not danced, and he had not pushed, and yet they remained in the same steps, remained inches from a grand finale._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My name is vehlr and I am apparently allergic to happiness.

His heart hammers in his chest. Theirs had been a strange sort of courtship - starting from bare tolerance and passing through affection several times over. He had thought, weeks ago, that she might care for him as more than a fighting companion, but then a letter that had been stuck to another had put paid to that idea.

He wonders, now, what she had crossed out.

But he had fallen for her regardless, and had wanted to ease her aches with his words. They had waxed and waned like the moon, edging ever closer and further away from desires. She had not danced, and he had not pushed, and yet they remained in the same steps, remained inches from a grand finale. And so their story had unfolded, a thin allegory for what could have been if only she had felt the same way. If only --

_I would want you to kiss me._

His fingers tighten around the page, and he pushes himself to his feet. No more words, no more letters. She deserved his best, and he would give himself to her wholly and completely. He would tell her every story, follow her into the Void if he had to.

His feet are light across the courtyard, his smile broad. It was fate, surely, that she wanted him now - now that he was ready to become a man who would not falter. That he was ready to become more like the brash and confident humans he surrounded himself with. That he was ready to be good enough.

He vaults up the steps to the small room above the armory --

“ - agreed that you and Leliana are both up for contention.”

“I see.”

“If I may be so bold, your more… traditional views are well received. You would make a most promising Divine.”

The word stops him, floor creaking under his foot as he misses his footing on the last step. In the room, Mother Giselle turns to regard him with some surprise.

“Oh, Master Tethras. Are you alright?”

Beyond her, sat bathed in candlelight, Cassandra meets his gaze.

He can see it, in her eyes - the exact moment her heart shatters. The second she realises why he is here, why he has come with his heart in his hands and why he now has to leave. They have missed their dance once more, and it kills her.

He grieves for that look in her eyes, swallowing his apologies and summoning a slight smile.

“I was just passing,” he says finally. “I should go. Letters to write, and all that.” If his voice wavers, Mother Giselle does not acknowledge it.

The walk back down the stairs is the longest he has had to bear in many years.

 

* * *

 

At his table, he falters, leaning heavily over his papers as he breathes in deep. It was quiet, only a few stragglers remained, but he would not break, not where he might be seen. The rumours would be murder.

In his hand, her letter feels like a lead weight.

_I would want you to kiss me._

Andraste take him.

For the briefest moment, he thinks about leaving - with her, without her, hand in hand and not at all. But he could do neither. The world was still falling apart, and he could not abandon those who would save it. He was dangerously close to becoming a hero. _Someone has to be,_ he thinks darkly, _now that Hawke is..._

The quill shakes in his hands, scrawling out his apologies. If he had known… if he had only -

 _What? If you had only what?_ he thinks bitterly. _If you had told her sooner, it would have hurt more. Nothing would have changed._

He stops, the ink pooling on his desk. Ah, but it _hurt_. He knows he should say something to her, something that might help either of them, but the words would not come, not yet. He abandons the hall for the night, instead finding his bed and a bottle of something foul.

He hurts, an ache that he has not felt in years. _Fool_ , he thinks. _Damned fool._


	9. letter set 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric: One day, Seeker. One day, I’ll make all your dreams come true.  
> Cassandra: ~~You’ll make my dreams come true? Varric, please.~~  
>  ~~You are insufferable.~~  
>  ~~I suppose this is the man I have chosen to love.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's that, did the rating change? 
> 
> _**HUH.** _

[ _scrawled on a page, splotches of ink and angry scribbles_ ]

_no no you have got to be kidding me_

_i’m sorry i’m sorry cassandra i’m sorry i should have said i should have been braver i should have told you sooner i’m sorry_

[ _a fresh page_ ]

Cassandra --

                You were sat down when I found you. I don’t think I would have let you stand up, you know. I would have crossed the room and met you there, I would have held your face in my hands, I would have called you by your name as I told you how I felt, and I would have kissed you until the sun rose again.

                I want that more than anything.

                But the world has shown me little grace, and I find myself bereft once more. It is not our dance, not today. Perhaps not ever. If you are chosen to be the new Divine - shit, Cassandra, I can’t even begin to think about that, not right now. All I can think about is that look in your eyes when you saw me behind the Mother. I never want to see that hurt again. I want to grab your hand and run, far away from all of this.

                You wouldn’t come with me, and I would never ask you to. We both know we’re supposed to be here. ~~But Andraste’s ass, Seeker, we could have run so far.~~

                I love you, Cassandra. I should have told you before, and now… now we have to wait, haunted by it. Yes, I said ‘wait’ and not ‘give up’ - I’m not giving up on this, not today. Not ever. Even if this war takes another two years, even if I get mauled by a dragon. Shit, even if the Maker comes down and tells you to sit on that Sunburst Throne Himself… I’m not giving up. You deserve someone who’ll wait for the stars to align. You deserve a happy ending. You deserve my best, and that’s what you’re going to get.

I promise you, we will have our dance.

                Yours, always,

                -- Varric.

 

 

~~You were not supposed to see you were not supposed to hear I wanted to tell you myself, in person, and now how can I look at you, how can I bear knowing I have broken your heart --~~

Varric--

It is true. I am a potential candidate for Divine. Leliana and I discussed the possibility in private some time ago, when the wound of Most Holy’s death was still fresh, and we were unsure how long this war would take. Now, all of it festers, and I am no longer sure what I want. I love you, and so, I must be honest with you. I would be proud to be elected Divine. Justinia was a mentor and mother to me. To follow her, carry on her legacy, it would honor me beyond words.

But I also want to run. When this war is over, I want to do that. Neither of us can, and neither of us will, but I can picture it so clearly. The world would not be prepared for the two of us, not together.

I wish you had not come to see me. Perhaps my letter pushed you too far, and for that I am sorry. I simply cannot go on pretending that I do not want you to kiss me the way I have imagined. I cannot pretend that I do not want you to take me, someway, any way. That I don’t dream of having you however I can.

Yes, we must wait. I will not give up, so long as you are prepared to wait. For now, we put duty before desire, and I am as content as I can be with seeing you each day, reading your words every night. If the Maker comes down and throws me to the throne himself, he may find a fight on His hands. It may honor me to become Divine, but please me it will not.

Not when I know you are out there, and that you feel for me as I feel for you. It was a terrible world we were born into, was it not? I know there are some who believe in other lives. I like to think in one time or another, you and I could be together as we hoped. Are we being punished? The Chantry would seem to think so, but I disagree. I do not think this is punishment, despite how torturous it feels. We are bound by the lives we chose to lead. Perhaps, in time, we will shed those responsibilities. Perhaps, in time, we will be free to choose the lives we want.

It is, among others, a dream I have. As of late, they all seem to be about you. It is not such a terrible fate.

Yours,

Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra --

                It’s not a punishment. After not knowing how you felt… the truth is a gift. Everything else is just life. And you’re right, we chose these paths, and this is where we’re supposed to be. Just out of reach, for now. We can bear that.

                I don’t regret it. I don’t regret coming to you. I’ve wanted to for a long time, held back only by uncertainty and my own worries. ~~I mean, come on, I’m not exactly~~ I can’t imagine how hard it would have been to kiss you and then find out. To have to stop.

                You would make one hell of a Divine, Seeker. And if that’s what life has lined up for you next, then I’ll be front and centre of the Grand Cathedral at your ascension ceremony. But I really hope you’re stood next to me, and not in front of me, when that day comes.

                Until then, I’ll settle for what we have now - you at my back in the field, your familiar presence at the practice dummies when we’re here, and your words on the page telling me that you love me. ~~Shit, you love me. Are you su~~ Cassandra, I can’t begin to explain how much that means to me. Just understand that it is  everything.

                I’ve done a lot of waiting, in my time. For you, I can stand to wait a little more.

                Yours,

                -- Varric

 

 

 

Varric --

It breaks my own heart that you should have to wait, but I am sure and I am convinced that, soon, it will be worth it. If only we can hold out just a bit longer. You should know, I would not been able to refuse you. Knowing the truth, even knowing how much it could hurt, I could not have said no. I could not have stopped. I don’t think anything could have stopped, just as nothing can stop me now. Perhaps that is wrong of me, I do not know. What I know is I will take anything you give.

The thought of becoming Divine puts a strange terror in my heart. I could fail, I could be rejected, I could be ousted or killed. I suppose it is nothing new. All of those things could happen here. I began this Inquisition, I insisted on its formation, if it fails the consequences will be on me. I am sure I think of it too often than I should. It is a heavy weight.

I do not seem to feel it so much when I write to you.

I dreamt of you last night. I am sure you tire of hearing about dreams, but you should know it was wonderful. A bit strange, at first, but then, something else entirely. We were together, and nothing happened, not for a long time. We were reading together. You held my hand. It was so warm and real in my own, I thought that perhaps I had really only dreamt the obstacles between us, and the reality could be so much simpler. I was too happy to be disappointed when I woke. Again I dreamt of kissing you. Of your hands in my hair, and on my neck. Your fingers clasped around my wrist, my pulse drumming under your palms. I wanted you terribly, and then I awoke.

Perhaps I lied about being disappointed. It was, of course, and as always, too good to be true.

Yours,

Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra --

                I’m pretty sure the consequences of failure will be on all of us. But that’s not something you need to worry about. I mean, look at how far we’ve all come. When you founded this, it was a group of heretics and terrified survivors. Now we’re a real force for change. And that is really all down to you - and sure, the Inquisitor too, I guess…

                My point is, you’re right. You worry too much about it.

                I like hearing about your dreams, actually. I don’t always understand what humans see when they sleep, but it sounds nice. Your dreams especially sound wonderful. I don’t get to read as much as I’d like - well, unless it’s reports from Kirkwall and the Guild, but that’s hardly what one would call ‘light reading’ - but spending time with you like that would be fantastic. Something to remember when it’s our turn, I guess.

                You want me in your dreams, huh? Maybe I should write you something to dream about. You know, for posterity. Can’t have you dreaming inaccurate thoughts about me, after all. Although you’re pretty spot on so far - my hands would want to map every inch of you, every blessed part of your body. My lips wouldn’t be too far behind.

                One day, Seeker. One day, I’ll make all your dreams come true.

                Yours,

                -- Varric

 

 

Varric--

~~You’ll make my dreams come true? Varric, please.~~

~~You are insufferable.~~

~~I suppose this is the man I have chosen to love.~~

Live up to your promise. Give me something to dream about. I will be in the Exalted Plains, staring at dirt and listening to Dorian complain about dry skin. I could use a colorful image or two. Be well, while I am gone.

Yours,

Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra --

                Sparkler, complaining? Perish the thought! Well, at least you’re doing something. I feel completely useless, stuck here poring over letters from minor Marcher nobles as a favour to Ruffles - I’ve been drinking with some of them and she assumed I wouldn’t mind going over their correspondence to see who’s actually likely to back us. They all will, if I lean on them enough, but apparently I have to be sure.

                Besides, if I can save a few of my favours, it might benefit me later down the line, when I can think about helping Kirkwall more. Aveline says there’s a few rifts dotted around up there, and the people have barricaded themselves into the city proper. Coin’s still getting in and out, thanks to the Guild - and no small amount of angry letters from yours truly - but people can’t eat coin.

                But enough about that, I’m sure that wasn’t the colourful imagery you had in mind. No, you want something a little more… tawdry? How about we pick up where your dream left off, hm? My lips on your neck, my hands around your wrists… shit, Seeker, I never had you as the type to be held down by anyone. But then again, I imagine you’re a lot softer than I used to give you credit for. Underneath all that armour, scar-kissed skin just waiting to be explored… I’m sure dream-me has the patience to track and trace every part of you, but real-me isn’t so strong-willed. I’d sit you in my lap, where I can see you, where I can grab at every part of you - more specifically, your fantastic ass. I mean, I don’t know what special Seeker training you have, but it is doing wonderful things back there and I wholeheartedly approve.

                Sorry. Off topic.

                I’m not sure I’d manage to get you completely naked - again, patience is not my strong suit in this area - but then again, the feel of fabric can be quite the teasing touch. And I would definitely tease you, Seeker. I’d want you desperate for me, the way I’m already desperate for you.

                Yours, emphatically,

                -- Varric

 

 

Varric --

I have been desperate for you for far too long. This place is crawling with demons. To feel your hands on my body, any part of me, would be a reprieve. To even imagine it frees me, even as I lay here, confined to this tent, while you are far. You could not possibly imagine the ways that I need you. Or maybe you could. You and your endless talent for conjuring images where there are none. I am not held down, but I would be, under your hands.

I am a woman without much patience, when presented with what I desire. How do you not know that I would turn the tables so quickly, and take you myself? After all, I am taller.

But you could tease, I would allow it. After all this time? After waiting? I would give anything for it to last as long as it could. There would never be a rush, not even after that first moment. I can feel your hands slowly undressing me. Perhaps I would not be able to wait, though. Perhaps I would need you, as soon as I could have you.

There would always be next time.

Yours,

Cassandra

               

 

Cassandra --

                New rule. No mentioning demons and your hands in the same paragraph.

                ~~Stay safe. Please.~~

                You’re taller, but I’m fairly sure my arms are stronger than yours. If I wanted to, I’m pretty sure I could keep you pinned down. Not that I would want to, mind you. The idea of you wanting to do anything to me is an idea worth pursuing.

                Would you be wet for me, Cassandra? Would your body be as desperate and aching for my touch as your heart is? Would your hips roll as I teased, your core needing my fingers? My tongue? I would tell you stories, great ballads and epics as I taste you. My thoughts are often preoccupied with how good you’ll feel on my tongue. I’ve gotten very little actual work done and it’s entirely your fault.

                Would you call out my name?

                Yours, achingly,

                -- Varric

 

 

[ _written in a trembling hand_ ]

Yes. Yes I would, I--

                                _~~maker it has been so long~~_

                ~~if i could not be what you wanted, if i disappointed you~~

I would ache, I am aching, I always ache. To have your mouth upon me, your fingers inside me, your body on mine. You would need to write me no poetry, it would _be_ poetry to me.

I am always thinking of you. I fear I cry out your name in my sleep, I fear the others know that I am a fool in love. My thoughts are filled with you, filled with you filling me. Is it wrong to pray for it? I do.

                                                                I close my eyes and I am so close to the edge, _~~Varric please--~~_

 

 

Cassandra --

                ~~Would it be so bad if they knew~~

                Your letter-writing skills are ~~fucking~~ fantastic.

                Then consider me a fool also. I’m not sure how to say your name without betraying the fact that I’d rather be saying your _name_. That, in itself, is a prayer on my lips, a promise for better things, my heart reaching out to yours in three syllables. I would whisper it as I made love to you, I would hear my name from your heart and I would answer in kind, hurried desperate cries and _hang_ whoever overhears I don’t care who knows -

                Cassandra. I love you.

 

 

My love, make no mistake. I am not ashamed. If all of Skyhold knows how I feel, I do not care. But to be heard, to have my private thoughts so easily displayed. I have had nothing for myself, for so long. I do not want it to be mine alone because I fear what others will think. I want it to be mine alone because I do not want to lose you. Not to anyone, or anything.

How many times must I tell you? I feel nothing but love for you. I have nothing but need in my heart. Nothing but adoration. I would call out your name, and more. And if someone should hear, then it does not matter.

Would you do the same? Would you let me do the same? Would you let me make love to you?

 

 

Cassandra --

Yes. Yes, without reserve or hesitation. I would let you explore my skin, tell you every story traced into me, I would ache at your every touch, your fingers finding their own path, I would sing at your every kiss, your mouth hot against me, I would praise your name with every blessed move, _please ~~please Cassandra I~~_

I would let you do whatever you wanted with me, Seeker. I am yours, heart body and soul.

You’re not going to lose me. Not now, not ever.

Yours, eternally,

\-- Varric

 

 

~~i love you i love you i need you i------~~

                ~~i was alone for the briefest moment i touched myself and i thought of you hands and your fingers and i was lost i----~~

                                ~~how can i lose you if i feel like i don’t truly have you~~

~~but you are not mine. we are only words, varric, just words~~

We almost lost Dorian.

There are so many demons. We are leaving. If it is not one thing, it is always another.

I miss you. I am so tired.

~~if i came to you would you ---~~

 

 

Cassandra --

                There’s more tea on your desk, and wine if you prefer. Travel safe, and come home and rest. It’ll get easier, I promise.

                Oh and tell Sparkler there’s some Marothius Pale behind the bar with his name on it. That should take some of the ache from his wounds.

                Yours, with bated breath,

                -- Varric

                PS: You know you don’t have to hold back when you write to me, right? You can say anything to me. You don’t have to cross it out. I promise.

                PPS: I miss you too. I always do.

 

 

My love, I apologize. I was not myself. The exhaustion made me another woman, not the best I could be for you. I will admit, I drank the wine first. And then I slept. I bathed. I thought of you. I drank the tea. I slept again.

Dorian will be well, in time. He was almost gone, almost too far away from us. It was...frightening. I understood quickly how fragile even the strongest of us are.

You would not have liked what I said, it was terrible, I should not have sent you anything at all. Know that I love, and have faith in our future. That is all I can say.

Tell me what you did while I was away, besides tease. The drollest, drabbest details.

I am yours to have, for however long you will write.

 

 

Cassandra --

                You needed the rest, you don’t need to apologise. I’m just glad you’re back in one piece. I stopped by to see Sparkler this morning. He looked like shit - well, refined and coiffed shit, but you know what I mean. Still, he called me several names when I pointed this fact out, so he must be feeling a lot better already.

                Whilst you were away, very little of interest happened. I managed to wrangle the Marcher nobles for Ruffles, so we’ve got the support of a good chunk of them and the rest will doubtless fall in line. I owe Choir Boy a favour, though, so no good can come of that. Hopefully he’ll forget. Hopefully. Oh, and as a personal favour to me, there’s a Bann preparing a shipment of grain to send to Kirkwall, so the food shortages will be eased for a while, until I can think of another option. So that’s something, at least.

                I made a few more notes for the inevitable book, should we all come out of this smelling of roses. The Inquisitor’s Tale doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as Hawke’s book did. I’ll have to think of something better.

                Nightingale keeps throwing me funny looks. I think she knows. Or at least she thinks she knows. Whatever. I’m just glad she hasn’t started sending assassins at me. It’s a nice change of pace, in truth.

                Oh, and the Kid’s drawings are fantastic - I’m not sold on the one you said you liked, the colourful one of me. Is my nose really that shape? But there’s one of you in the half-light, I swear I must have seen it before, there’s something familiar about it…

                Yours, confusedly,

                -- Varric

 

 

Varric--

What assassins?

\--Cassandra

 


	10. letter set 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra: Maker take me though, I am yours.  
> Varric: You have me, completely and without reserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [12:20:48 PM] catchbooker: my note, on this chapter  
> [12:20:51 PM] catchbooker: "gosh it sure does seem happy around here, doesn't it?"  
> [12:21:03 PM] catchbooker: anything you'd like to add?  
> [12:21:11 PM] v: HAHAHAHAHA

 Cassandra, light of my life and bright star in my sky --

                ~~Shit. Look, it’s not~~

                ~~They’re actually very easy to spot if~~

                Okay. I owe you the truth.

                Once upon a time there was a dwarf, young and hopeful and stupid, called Varric, and he met a bright smith called Bianca and fell completely in love. He thought, back then, as the young and naive always do, that love would conquer all and despite her parent’s objections they would be able to live out their lives in peace forever and ever -

                He was a fucking idiot, Seeker. He didn’t know any better.

                Her parents had a match lined up, but he thought it didn’t matter. So he asked her to run away with him, to marry him and to run far away from Kirkwall and their families and start fresh in some strange new city - together, always together. And she said yes, but he had to be patient, she had something she needed to do before she could leave, he had to wait for her.

                So he waited. At the small Chantry just outside the city, he waited. And he waited until the sun went down and rose again.

                And then the news came through that she had promised herself to the man her parents had arranged for her.

                Idiot, like I said.

                And he knew, somewhere in the deepest darkest parts of his heart, that she didn’t love him, that she’d made that choice herself. But when she came to him in the weeks after, crying and desperate for his forgiveness… he gave it to her, because he loved her.

                Two days later, the assassins came for him. That’s the rather fetching scar across my nose, by the way. I was a little too slow on the uptake, but I never let them land another hit. Never again.

                And so it went, for almost two decades - any time I spoke to Bianca or managed to grab an hour of her time, her family would end up hearing about it and sending people to ‘gently remind’ me that she wasn’t mine. As if I needed reminding. I didn’t think we would ever - shit, I never thought we’d get it together, but my heart lingered because it was easy, it was safe to pretend that having an hour or two once every few months was enough.

                But even that lost its shine a long while back.

                I don’t talk about it because I wasted a lot of time wishing for a woman I could never have - lusting after a married woman isn’t a great show of character. But that was a long time ago, and I’m not that guy anymore. I haven’t been him for a very long time.

[ _here the writing becomes less steady, quicker and slightly smudged_ ]

                When she came to the Keep… shit, Cassandra, it was like seeing a ghost. I haven’t spoken to her in nearly a year, and then she just turns up and she acts like it’s the old days with her smart mouth and quick trigger finger and then she turns around and reveals that _she's_ the one to blame for the red lyrium getting out and she said it was all for me and my brother and I just I was so _angry_ with her for fucking everything up and that _damned_ _thaig_ and she thought she could just _fix_ everything like one of her fucking _machines_ that is so fucking _typical_ of her I swear -

[ _in neater writing once more_ ]

                She’s been a part of my life for so long. Woven into all the lies I tell myself. But I’m not lying, not anymore. She’s the past, and you are my future, and I love you.

                Oh, and there weren’t any assassins this time, so I guess that’s that.

                Yours, only ever yours,

                -- Varric

 

 

My love, I could never fault you for being in love. I could never despise any part of you that so passionately wanted a life with this woman. Truthfully, when I heard she had come to Skyhold, I wondered if there had been a history, but I was entrenched too deep in my own denial of my feelings, and I told myself that it didn’t matter.

It still does not matter.

You took a great risk, telling this story to me. And so, I welcome it, with open arms. I love you, all of you, your past included. I do not think you were a fool to love her. I think you believed in the adage, that love wins over any and all other things. I think you still do, because if you did not, then why would we continue to live as we do?

There is a story of my own I should tell you, but it is hard. I want to be as honest as you, but I do not know how, when the pain is still alive in my heart. I hope you can give me the time, and trust that I will, soon, tell you everything.

My sun, my heart. I love you.

Ask the Iron Bull, if you are worried about spotting assassins.

 

 

Cassandra, forgiver of my sins,

                If you never wanted to tell me, I wouldn’t begrudge you. If it pains you to say, then keep your silence and know that I will never ask. Take as long as you need - I’m not going anywhere, after all.

                I’m not sure I agree that I wasn’t a fool, but then I’m hardly my own biggest fan. I should have let her go when she left me at the Chantry. I should have moved on then. Andraste’s ass, I should have done a lot of things. ~~Is it too early to start drinking?~~

                You never finished Hard in Hightown, did you? Well, let me tell you a little secret. Donnen Brennokovic never gets the girl. He doesn’t need to. He’s married to his work, he loves what he does. His life is entirely independent of needing another person. Once upon a time, I wanted that. I wanted nothing more than to be free of it. ~~I was always second best to everyone, even myse~~

                Not a story I’m proud of.

                But being here, with you, in whatever way we can be… this is what I want. As much as I can have, whatever happens, none of this will ever be a regret. I’m not young and foolish, I’m walking in with open eyes and my heart in your hands. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

                I’m not worried. They’re usually dwarves, and usually stupid. Unless Nightingale really does start sending some after me - she wouldn’t, right?

                Right?

                Yours, nervously,

                -- Varric

 

 

Leliana would never send assassins after you. You are indispensable, and apparently, hard to kill. She is also quite aware in her own right of our...arrangement. How she discovered this, I will not ask. I was angry, at first, and accused her of reading my letters to you, but, there was no way she could have. It was a moment of weakness, and I regret lashing out, but she has taken it in stride. So if she is acting strangely the next time you see her, know it is only because I...confessed my love for you to her and she has been feeling rather smug about it. She has teased me about it from the start, and I am not fond of proving her right.

You have no sins for me to forgive, there is no need to be so dramatic. Do not live with regret for the love you had for her. It was you, don’t you remember, who told me not to hold my regrets so close. I give you the same advice. You are who you are because of this love. It has shaped parts of you, and I would not give those parts up for anything. I love you just as you are, right now, in this moment.

Perhaps you should write your own sequel to Hard in Hightown where Donnen does get his girl. Doesn’t he deserve it, as you have? Not that belong to you. Do not tell anyone that. And I am not a girl.

Maker take me though, I am yours. Wholly and completely. It is a beautifully terrifying thought.

 

 

My Cassandra --

                You know I’m terrible at taking my own advice, right? But you’re right, as usual. I’m just smarting from what happened in the thaig, still. I don’t like it when I’m blindsided, especially when I should probably have seen it coming - Bianca’s always been a ‘means to an end’ type of woman. But I’ll get over it. Eventually.

                I’ve been asked about an official sequel before, and I always said that the guardsman was finished. There was an idea I had, a short ending to his story, a little while after we lost Hawke, but… nobody would be that interested, so I let it go. Honestly, with Tale of the Champion selling as well as it did, my editor suggested a sequel to that, but I’m not ready to write down that ending just yet.

                Not like there’s that much time for writing at the moment anyway. I’m lucky if I can get enough anecdotes for the Inquisitor’s book.

                You are certainly not a girl. You are a woman, battle-born and made of steel and glory, and I am lucky to have you in my life at all. But the fact that you’re _mine_ … shit, that’s something to warm the soul on a cold afternoon.

                Oh, and if there was any doubt - you have me, completely and without reserve. Always.

                I saw Sparkler up and about today. They sure make ‘em resilient in Tevinter. Heard him complaining about the state of the library in his absence, and then the Kid appeared and it all went quiet again. Still, a nice distraction from Guild obligations - they want me to go back for a meeting. As if I could just drop everything to go and sit in on a seven-hour lecture on spending habits and profit margins.

                Yours, bored in the hall,

                -- Varric.

 

 

A quick note, for you. The Inquisitor has asked me to join them on the Storm Coast, along with yourself and Solas. Do you realize how long it has been since we left Skyhold together? That the last time we did so, we were hardly where we are now? It is a charming thought, and I cannot quite explain the thrill I get when I imagine venturing out alongside you again. I know we will have not a single moment to ourselves, but it will be a pleasant interruption to our usual activities.

[ _later, in a quicker hand_ ]

I wondered if it was true, that there was a great deal of red lyrium isolated to one part of the Coast. Cullen allowed me to look at his more detailed maps of the area, and Leliana’s agents have, indeed, marked a cave where there are several large deposits of red lyrium. I know you take personal offense to it, but are you quite sure you would like to go? The last time, you were so shaken. I do not want to see you like that again, and I can personally see to it that the reserves are all destroyed. But, you are also your own man, and if you would like to make sure of it yourself, I suppose I cannot stop you. Either way, I look forward to any moment spent with you, regardless of rain or lyrium. Or Solas.

 

 

My beautiful and fearless Cassandra, 

                You, me and Chuckles? That’s… actually quite nostalgic in itself. I don’t remember the last time - was it before we lost Haven? Shit. I’m not used to withstanding his Fade talk AND your dry humour at the same time, Seeker. I am but a poor defenseless dwarf.

                Okay, I can’t even write that without laughing. Still, should be interesting. And I have to admit, spending some actual time with you will be fantastic. I’ve barely caught sight of you in the past few weeks. Just make sure you keep your eyes on any danger, rather than on my impressive self. (alright, maybe I should take my own advice. You’re very distracting. And fierce on the battlefield. And I should really stop thinking about this.)

                Our majestic leader mentioned the red lyrium. I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. Last time, it was in the air before we even got there, and on top of that it was cold and depressing and just generally a shit place to be, and I’m a dwarf of comforts. And I’ll admit, I’m not exactly enthralled by the idea of going into a cave system to deal with it, but if it gets too much I’ll just head back to the surface. Besides, it’s my mess to clean up. Sort of. And better me than anyone else - at least I’m a little more resistant. Thank the Stone, I guess.

                And it gets me out of writing a response to Choir Boy, which can only be a good thing.

                Yours, at your back,

                -- Varric

 

 

Cassandra --

                ~~Are you okay? It’s been a few days, and I~~

                ~~Did I say somethi~~

                Are you okay? I miss you.

                Yours, wonderingly,

                -- Varric

 

 

My love, you have been so patient with me, all this time. And you were brave enough to tell me about your Bianca, in a way that, at the time, I could not be. I am not sure if I am brave enough yet, but I have a story you deserve to know.

I mentioned to you that my apprentice was a boy named Daniel. Years ago, I was an apprentice myself, to a very kind, very determined Seeker, Byron. He was all the family I truly had, after Anthony, and he was killed by blood mages. I was very nearly killed myself, but a Circle mage rescued me. His name was Galyan. He was a bit like you, in that he was too handsome and too clever for his own good. And he knew both.

I do not have the talent for storytelling as you do, so I will not go into the details of what happened after Byron was killed. Needless to say, Galyan and I seemed to find one bit of trouble to get into after the next, and he was there for me as no one else had ever been, apart from my mentor. It took time to trust him, time to move past the idea that there was a difference between blood and Circle mages. You know how stubborn I can be. I was quite convinced that it was all the same, all terrible. Magic had taken Anthony, and then it had taken Byron. I was without family, and I was angry.

Varric, I was so _angry._

Galyan was with me when I saved the Divine. He was there when I was made her Right Hand. He was there for so much. He became an Enchanter, and also my lover. He was the very first, the only man I had ever loved. There were none before him, and when he died at the Conclave, in my grief, I thought there would be none after him. I convinced myself that there could be no one else. And then, of course, I found you.

You would have liked him, I think. He was a good man. Byron trusted him implicitly.

His Circle sent his things to Skyhold this week. Apparently they were all left to me. It is a meager box of possessions. Some letters, a book of prayers, a book of spells I passed on to Dorian, and a rune I gave to Dagna. I became distracted reading our correspondence. Before you, he was the only person I wrote to, and I did not do a very good job with it. If I have hurt you by avoiding you, I am sorry. I did not intend to, but I understand that is meaningless, particularly if you felt hurt anyway. I love you for your patience. I love you for your kindness.

I very simply love you.

Though, perhaps, it is not so simple. I do not think it ever was. But I would have it no other way.

 

 

Cassandra --

                You have nothing to apologise for, Seeker. Nothing at all. I was just worried about you, but I understand now. And I am honoured that you would tell me your story, and I am humbled by your trust. I love you, Cassandra. Maker, I love you.

                I’m sorry he’s not here anymore. He sounds like a great guy, and I’m glad you had someone like him in your life. I never thought that the explosion could have taken so much from one person, but you - shit, I am stunned that you are still standing. You are so strong, even in the face of an unforgiving world, and I am constantly amazed by you.

                ~~If you need to take some time~~

                If you need to talk about it, ever, you know I’m here for you. Always.

                Yours, in awe,

                -- Varric


	11. interlude: song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He is not quite sure where the words are coming from, but he feels every single one of them. He hurts with the weight of the guilt. How many more people had he let down?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vehlr reporting for heartbreaking duty!

The singing starts at the first cluster. Varric pushes on.

* * *

The spiders were a surprise - too much of a surprise, and they are forced back against the wall, surrounded by the damned things. Varric lets loose a stream of creative curses under his breath as the veilfire Solas summons illuminates the shapes in frightening light, giving him a chance to pick off the smaller targets. The larger beast he leaves to the Seeker.

Of course, he does not expect it to have teeth the size of his hands, but when it bites her he knows about it.

“Seeker!”

She cries out as it pins her against the wall, before lunging out with her sword to skewer the wretched thing. With a screech it pulls back, fangs bloodied, before the Inquisitor makes short work of it.

Varric kneels down by Cassandra. “Shit, you alright?”

“I am fine,” she snaps.

“Yeah, you really look it,” he mutters angrily, offering his hand. She bats it away, and his annoyance swells. “Don’t be an ass, Seeker -”

“I am _fine_.” Hauling herself up, she grimaces as she shifts her weight, rolling her shoulder. “Just a flesh wound. Let us move on.” And without a backward glance, she advances into the cave.

_Great. Just great._

 

* * *

 

At the next cluster, his head aches. The song is strong.

“Are you alright?” Solas’s voice feels far away.

“Fine. Go ahead, I’ve got this one.” Hauling Bianca up, he takes aim at the red rocks.

“As you wish.”

“Do not be ridiculous, we are not _leaving_ you -”

“Seeker, the sooner we clear this place, the sooner we can get out of here. Splitting up makes a certain amount of sense.”

“Why must you make this more difficult than it has to be?”

“Oh, sure,” he mutters. “Life would be so much easier if it wasn’t for the dwarf.”

“I did not say -”

“You didn’t _have_ to.” He kicks at the ground, his guilt and anger building once more in his chest as he stares at the cluster of red lyrium. “It’s my fault this stuff’s here, after all. If I hadn’t given Bianca that thaig -”

“You are so insistent that Bianca’s actions are your fault,” she sighs, and he can hear the irritation in it, “but would you ever consider that she is her own woman? That her actions are entirely her own?”

“She wouldn’t have bothered if I hadn’t asked her to look into red lyrium. I set her on that path, just like I set Bartrand on his. I pushed for the expedition that unearthed that damned idol.” He swallows, dropping his crossbow. “I ruined their lives. I ruined _everyone’s_ lives.”

He is not quite sure where the words are coming from, but he feels every single one of them. He hurts with the weight of the guilt. How many more people had he let down?

“Varric -”

He cuts her off. “If I’d stopped Bartrand sooner, the idol would never have fallen into Meredith’s hands. If I’d told you about Hawke, the Conclave might have stood a chance. Hell, if you hadn’t been babysitting me in the camps at Haven, Galyan might still be -”

“ _Don’t._ ” Her voice is brittle, and he almost regrets it. Almost. But the song pushes him on, the darkness teased out of him through bitter words.

“Tall, dark and handsome. A real hero, right? Like in the stories.”

“How _dare_ you -”

Anger meets anger, and he turns to face her, words spat out like curses. “I’m _sorry_ , alright? I’m sorry you got stuck with _me_ instead of _him!_ I’m sorry I’m not - I’m not the hero everyone needs to have around, I’m not _Hawke_ , I’m not some blessed fucking champion! I’m the tag-a-long, the make-do, the guy who isn’t good enough! I am _haunted_ by those shitty decisions, Seeker! And because of me, we’re in this damned ass cave smashing up red lyrium and waiting for the world to end -”

The hit, when it comes, is hard - her swing connecting with his cheek, pushing him backwards. He brings a hand up to his face, and her sharp intake of breath is deafening in the silence.

Her eyes glitter in the red light, her mouth a thin line. “You need to get out of here.” But it is not anger in her voice, not anymore, and the guilt surges up in his chest again.

He takes in a ragged breath, before moving past the Inquisitor. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Halfway out the cave, he realises he has left Bianca behind, and almost goes back - but the ache is fading, the song barely audible, and he knows he needs to keep going, to breathe the fresh air and -

 

* * *

He is sat on the rocks, shivering as the rain soaks through to his skin, when the party emerges. His head is clear, his heart is heavy. But he summons a smart line about hoping to grow a few more feet in the rain when the Inquisitor remarks on his state.

He cannot quite meet Cassandra’s eyes as she wordlessly holds out his crossbow. She does not speak again for a long time.

The silence is worse than the singing.


	12. letter set 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra: I need time, as do you. Grant me this one thing.   
> Varric: As long as you need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh gosh

[ _in shaky handwriting, the page dotted with water marks_ ]

Cassandra --

                I’m sorry. I’m sorry    ~~I shouldn’t have~~       ~~I was out of line~~       ~~I was wretched~~

                You were right. I shouldn’t have gone.

                If you can’t forgive me, I understand. ~~But please, _please Cassandra I can’t_~~

                I love you. I’m sorry.

_I love you more than anything in this damned world and I_

 

 

Varric --

~~You ass---~~

~~You insufferable, foolish dwarf~~

~~I trusted you with~~

~~No, I am as much a fool. Forgive me --~~

I need time, as do you. Grant me this one thing.

Breathe. Do not forget.

It cannot sing to you here.

\-- Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra --

As long as you need. ~~Just come ho~~

~~This is still~~

~~I'm better now I can be bette~~

Stay safe.

\-- Varric

 

 

Varric --

I know it has been two weeks. When the Inquisitor asked if I would go to the Western Approach, I took the chance. There was work to be done, and the journey was long. We walked through the night a handful of times, and I needed it, desperately. I needed to rid my body of the poison I had put there. I struck you, and in doing so, I struck myself. There are no words I could string together that could coherently beg your forgiveness.

In truth, I did not want it, not at first.

I was angry, and spiteful. You hurt me. I love you, and so I will tell you. There is no other word for what happened in that cave. There was nothing but hurt, and now we both suffer.

You hurt me, and I hurt you. I fear we are trapped in a terrible circle of it, and we glance along the edges of love not carefully enough. I am terrified we will not make it.

There is nothing left to say. I love you. I continue to do so, despite everything. Forgive me, please, and know that I am not angry, nor was I ever.

\--Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra --

                I’ve had a lot of time to think about what happened. I’ll admit, a lot of the first few days weren’t really spent thinking - I think the Keep is pretty much dry at this point, thanks to me - but once the haze wore off and the alcohol passed, I started to write. And it’s gibberish, really, just word after word, and it’s going into the fire later, but it felt… not good, but important. And I didn’t stop writing for two days, so forgive me if my writing’s a little shaky, my wrist is still aching.

                First of all, I’m sorry. I know I keep saying it, and I know that doesn’t fix anything, but I want you to know that I am sorry for throwing all of that hurt onto you. I wish I could say that it was the red lyrium, that I didn’t mean any of it, but you know me too well for me to lie like that.

                The worst of it was using your pain against you - I dishonoured a good man’s memory by dragging Galyan into it, and that’s something I can’t forgive myself for. I lit a candle for him in the Chantry last night. I don’t know how he felt about the Maker, but it seemed like the right thing to do. I stayed in there for a long time. I don’t really pray like I should, but it was quiet and I felt closer to something good. And I lit a lot of candles, and I let a lot of ghosts go.

                I won’t bore you with all the ins and outs of my journey, but I’ve spent a long time being second fiddle to someone greater - Bartrand was the prodigal son, Bianca had her perfect life, Hawke was the Champion. I was, in a weird way, happy being overlooked, because it meant that someone else would cover my mistakes. That I was out of the spotlight, and anything I did to help was just… tidywork.

                I was scared to play second fiddle to the dead. I can’t compete with a memory, I thought. Memories are flawless in their way, and Galyan was already a much better man than I am. But I was wrong when I thought that, because it’s not a contest, is it? It’s a battle and you’re surviving - but only just, and no thanks to me.

                I love you, Cassandra. I can’t take back what I said - my words were as strong as any physical wound (and you are forgiven, fully forgiven, for trying to knock some damned sense into me) and they will hurt a lot longer than any cut or bruise. There is no potion or poultice to make them go away. I have scarred us, and I will have to watch you bear that for the rest of our days, and I am sorry for that.

I know that much of what I said was sharpened and will not easily be forgiven, but I hope that one day I prove to be worth forgiving. I’m ready to be someone you deserve, if you’re willing to give me the chance. I’m ready to be more like you.

                I’m really glad you’re back.

                Yours,

                -- Varric

 

 

Varric--

I wish I could regret telling you of Galyan. Perhaps if I had kept him to myself, we would not be here. But I feel it does a disservice to his memory to pretend I never loved him. And it is a disservice to you, when you were so willing to give me your story.

It does us no good to wish we could do things over now. What's done is done. I will no longer be pinned down by anguish over what happened. You should not have gone into the cave, I should have held firm. I should have insisted. I did not watch out for you, and for that I am sorry. But, again, I will not regret it.

You will forgive me if I am still feeling the pain of it, as I suspect you are as well.

Dorian informed me of how much you drank while I was away. Please never do that again.

\--Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra --

                ~~How did Sparkler know abou~~

                I promise. I don’t remember much, so I probably owe him an apology too. Suffice it to say, I won’t be drinking any time soon.

                The Kid stopped by today. I think he was avoiding me before, but he seemed… content. He wanted to try his hand at writing a story. Problem is, he can’t keep everything in the right order. He was telling the reader what happened to the main character before you even knew who the main character was. Still, it was nice.

                ~~Speaking of stories, I’m thinkin~~

                Was the trip to the Approach productive, by the way?

                Rumours from home are that the Black Emporium’s back in business. Might see if I can swing for an invitation for our esteemed leader - some serious high end stuff, they might have something we can use to take on Corypheus. You never know, right?

                Yours,

                -- Varric

 

 

~~i do not want to talk about the fucking black emporium~~

~~i love you but i can’t look at you~~

~~does cole know what we did to each other~~

~~yes you owe dorian an apology. he knows about us. he has always known about us~~

Varric --

I will be in the Fallow Mire for a few days with Blackwall and the Inquisitor.

\--C

 

 

Cassandra --

                Stay safe out there.

                ~~Did I ever tell you abo~~

                I think Ruffles wants to conscript me. She’s left another stack of letters for me to pore over. I suppose this is my punishment for all the fuss. At least my feet are dry.

                There’s talk of a game of Wicked Grace next week, if you’re interested. Sparkler thinks he can win a few coin back from Tiny. I did point out that it was a futile exercise, but you know what he’s like.

                Yours,

                -- Varric

 

 

Cassandra --

                I caught a glimpse of you this morning, as you and the Inquisitor rode out. I guess you really don’t like to be idle. Curly says you’re going to Crestwood.

                ~~Did I say somethi~~

                ~~Of course I did.~~

                Stay out of trouble, alright?

                Yours,

                -- Varric

 

 

 

Cassandra --

                ~~I wanted to tell you about~~

                ~~You wouldn’t even look at me when you were in the hall~~

                ~~I can’t~~

                ~~I miss you~~

                Kill a demon for me, Seeker? Seems you’re getting all the fun assignments these days. The Marchers are boring me half to death.

                Come home in one piece.

                Yours, always,

                -- Varric

 

 

Nightingale --

                I need a favour. Can we talk?

                -- V.T.


	13. interlude: nightingale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He is fumbling in the dark, and he rather suspects they will both lose this fight unless he can find something to light his way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cue one vehlr humming "the dawn will come" because eventually this will all be fine... right? RIGHT??

She does not write back.

Varric supposes, under ordinary circumstances, he would be expected to actually _talk_ to the Seeker about why she was giving him the cold shoulder - and he is certain that she is, deadly certain that this is punishment for a misstep, but he does not know how to move forward from this mess without making it worse.

She wants to talk about it. He does not - vehemently and quite assuredly does not, wants some distance and some time before he rakes over the still-warm coals of their awful day on the coast.

It is nothing like he is used to, and he hates the feeling it gives him in his stomach.

 

* * *

 

He realises, nearly a fortnight later, that he does not really _know_ Cassandra Pentaghast that well - oh, he loves her, loves everything about her from her steely glare to her romantic heart and her impossibly long legs, but he does not know her as he ought to, cannot predict her reactions as he could with many of his other friends.

He is fumbling in the dark, and he rather suspects they will both lose this fight unless he can find something to light his way.

So he calls upon the only person who might be able to illuminate the path.

 

* * *

 

She summons him to her loft, and the moonlight through the cracks illuminates the crows in an eerie fashion. Varric offers up a quick prayer.

“Nightingale?”

Leliana is leaning against the railing, feeding her messengers. "You are a little early, storyteller. Come, sit with me."

He crosses to her desk, taking a seat, eyes glossing over the papers on her desk out of habit - nothing of note, she would be far too careful for that, he realises. After a moment, she joins him, leaning against the edge of her desk and regarding him.

“This is about Cassandra, is it not?”

“Yeah. I mean, you know we’re… well, whatever we are.”

“Yes.” Her face gives nothing away, and he sighs as he sinks into his chair, running a hand through his hair.

“I love her. And I don’t want to push her away, I _really_ don’t. But I think I’ve fucked up already, and I don’t know what to do. We were - well, you heard about my, ah… breakdown, no doubt. And she forgave me, amazingly, and I thought things would be okay, and then… she stopped writing back. She’s always out on an expedition, and I can’t - shit, I don’t know what to say. I know she wants to talk about it, wants to address my many problems, but I can’t. I can’t do that right now, not when that whole thing is so fresh. That’s not how I do things.”

“And how _do_ you do things?” she asks softly.

“I don’t,” he admits with a weak laugh. “Me and Hawke and Rivaini had a philosophy. If it hurt like hell, you just walked it off and acted like nothing was wrong. It was better for everyone, you know? We had friends who all worried too much about us anyway, and… and now the worries are a lot bigger, and I thought -”

She stops, stock still, and his voice fails with the stillness. And then she laughs, soft and kind. “Oh, _Varric_.”

“What?”

“You are as stubborn as each other.” She leans forward. “You are right, she will want to talk about it. She is forthright, and she will not be content to let wounds fester with time. But I suspect it is about more than that. You must know she is hardly one to be open with her feelings, but that does not mean she does not wish for it.”

He shifts in his seat. “We used to talk about... _some_ feelings," he says slowly.

Leliana shoots him a look.

"Maybe not the _right_ ones," he amends.

“She is a romantic, and you are a writer. Surely you can find a compromise that suits you both?”

He considers this for a long moment. “I’m not sure,” he admits finally. “We hid behind a story in the first place, and -”

“Who said anything about a story?” She smiles gently, resting a hand on his shoulder as she stands. “Tread lightly, but with sure steps. _Show_ her, do not _tell_ her. She is more delicate than she would care to admit when it comes to affairs of the heart - perhaps even as delicate as the peonies that already bloom in the gardens.”

"The - oh." He smiles. "Gotcha."

"She does not require apologies, she wants understanding. To know that your hearts can beat in time. Above all else, she wants your truth."

He swallows. Was he _ready_ to bare everything? His instinct was to push away, to buy himself space and time, but... _well, look where that's gotten you,_ he thinks sourly. "I... I can try. But what if -"

"It will be enough," she promises gently, "to show her you are trying."

He cannot stop the question escaping him. "What if _I'm_ not... enough?"

She says nothing at first, moving from the desk and turning to look out of the window. "You will have to be," she says finally, "or you will lose her."

A lifetime of unanswered letters. The thought makes him ache. He has to become better, has to become _more_. He hauls himself from the chair, taking a deep breath.

"But," adds the woman, "I do not think it will come to that. You have the capacity to make each other very happy, if you can make it through this moment. Do not squander that chance."

He manages a smile. "Thanks. Anything else I need to know?"

"I think you can work out the rest on your own," she laughs.

"Right. Well... if you need anything, let me know. I owe you one."

She laughs again, and he offers a slight bow as he takes his leave.

“Oh, and… Varric?”

He turns to face her -

The Nightingale regards him with a stare that would send most mortals into a fit, terrifying and beautiful in equal measure. Varric suddenly feels the weight of an accomplished bard on his soul.

“If you hurt her, you will not rest easy again.”

He swallows. “Got it.”

She smiles again, dismissing him with a wave of her hand, and the illusion shatters, leaving only Leliana and her birds.

 

* * *

 

He steals a peony from the gardens.


	14. letter set 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra: (and if wishes were -- oh, what do they say -- kisses?)  
> Varric: i would see you kissed for every wish in your heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you've kept up with the updates! We've added letter set seven, an interlude, and now, letter set eight. 
> 
> Hopefully you still love us.

Cassandra --

                ~~I wasn’t listening and I’m sor~~

                ~~I need to~~

                Welcome home.

                Yours,

                -- Varric

[ _enclosed, written in careful handwriting and with a pressed flower_ ]

                I have strayed far from the man I wish to be,  
                let loose in a labyrinth of my losses  
                lumbering, lingering  
                I am lost.

                I failed you.  
                And yet -

                forgiveness, far flung light, guide me and i will move the mountain

                - you are calling me on.

                Hearth and home, a hand to hold,  
                hearts given

                I await tomorrow.

 

 

~~you wrote~~

~~this is my favorite flower~~

Varric --

Thank you for the tea.

\--C

 

i require no stones moved  
only hands, warm in mine  
my name, sweet on your lips,  
and your own, whispered.

this yearning is great but i  
will be greater

i sink teeth too deep into flesh  
we are bitten and burned

i need

time.

 

 

 

Cassandra --

 

                I am not from Orlais but the wearing of masks  
                is as natural to me as the sun on my skin - 

                my home is silence, the gaps between the words,  
                she says more with a sigh than a kiss to my brow.  
                we do not speak, we are stone, we endure.

                my home is silence, the unspoken agreement,  
                the cracks are ignored, the smiles too tight  
                we do not speak, we are human, we survive. 

                I am unmasked before you, and I do not know  
                if I will survive the next sunset -

                - but I hide nothing in your light.

                Yours,  
                -- Varric

 

 

Varric --

i wish i were as bright as you believe  
(and if wishes were -- oh, what do they say -- 

kisses?)

you speak so loudly when you are silent  
and alone.

the sun will come and go, without my  
permission or yours.

we will live, in spite of ourselves.  
or, perhaps, to spite each other.

it matters not.

i do not demand your secrets.  
i do not intend to bleed you dry.

\--C

 

 

Cassandra --

                i would see you kissed for every wish in your heart

                i cannot say that you demand nothing of me  
                when i demand everything of myself on your behalf  
                you are the sun, but you cannot see it  
                denying grace yet dancing through the field  
                denying talent yet capturing a heart with each word  
                see what i see  
                you are ~~divine~~

                you might yet outgrow us, but  
                i would see you smile before the dawn

                i don’t want to fight

                Yours,  
                -- Varric

 

 

Varric --

do not put me so high  
do not elevate me to where i do not deserve it  
i am not every precise thing you would like  
me to be.

but i wish i were. 

i won’t fight you (i have not, in such a long time)

i need to tell you but  
the words are stuck

i can write it, now, i think.  
i love you.  
but it is so hard.  
you make it so _hard._

i would kiss you and sigh with you and  
call out your name and i would let you  
have me.

how many times have i dreamt of telling  
you how i feel, and then falling?  
i miss you.

but i need to be gone from here.  
for just a moment.

you are more the sun than you realize.

\--C

 

 

Cassandra --

                i’m trying  
                i will always try to reach  
                to be better

                i love you i cannot help but  
                love you with aching breath  
                and hollow hands  
                my heart cries out for

                i will wait. always. 

                i have only ever been a moon, reflective,  
                but i will learn to be

                Yours,  
                -- Varric


	15. interlude: the western approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Varric misses you, you know.” Cassandra stops and stands in front of Cole, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve said the wrong thing, haven’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weatheredlaw, reporting for additional pain duty.

“Could I go with you?”

Cassandra sets down the letter (or poem, or apology, or whatever it has become) from Varric, and looks at Cole. “To?”

“You’re going to the desert again, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes.” Cassandra folds the letter and puts it away. Cole smiles. “You wish to go, then?”

“I’ve never seen the desert before. What’s it like?”

“Filthy,” Cassandra says without thinking, and Cole smiles wider. “If it is alright with the Inquisitor, yes. You may accompany us.”

“I’d like to see a tumbleweed.”

Cassandra sighs. “You will be tired of them before we reach camp.”

 

* * *

 

 

She passes Varric in the hall, Cole trailing her side as they rush to meet Vivienne and the Inquisitor. He looks up, for just a moment, and their eyes meet. Cassandra grips the pommel of her sword tighter, and tries to smile. He smiles back, but she suspects she must look rather pained, because a passing noble asks if she’s feeling alright.

“Why did you lie to that man?” Cole asks as they descend the stairs.

“Because I would prefer not to detail my personal life to strangers.”

“Varric misses you, you know.” Cassandra stops and stands in front of Cole, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve said the wrong thing, haven’t I?”

“No. You…should say the truth, always. But perhaps with discretion.” Behind Cole, she sees Vivienne heading toward them. “Please.”

“Of course.” Cole turns and bows slightly to Vivienne. “Cassandra says the desert is filthy.”

“She is not wrong, my dear.” Vivienne straightens her back and marches toward the stables.

Cole smiles. “Better?”

“Yes,” Cassandra says, already exhausted. “Better.”

 

* * *

 

She considers writing while she is away, but there are no words that seem to come to her. She had been unable to answer his inane, menial letters on the Emporium and the city. It was torturous, watching him make play that they had never hurt each other. She certainly doesn’t wish to _wallow_ in it, but to pretend nothing had happened was just as bad. The poems, though…they were helping.

“Your mind is elsewhere, Lady Cassandra.” Vivienne steps into her stride and Cassandra starts. “My apologies.”

“None necessary.”

“You are thinking of someone, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.” Cassandra respects Vivienne, but she is hardly interested in playing games.

“You know, I _did_ hear the most peculiar rumor, some weeks ago. Would you care to hear it?”

“I’m sure you will tell me what it is whether I wish to or not.”

Vivienne laughs, low and not unkind, but still. “I did hear that our writer in residence asked you to dance, at the Winter Palace?”

Cassandra stiffens.

“It is, as you say, a rumor, Lady Vivienne.”

The mage sighs. “Well, they usually are.”

Ahead of them the Inquisitor shouts as they approach the camp, embracing Scout Harding and rallying the other soldiers already there. Cassandra disappears into a tent, and rests her head.

She is asleep before first watch.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Cassandra warns Cole to stay close.

In the morning, Cassandra warns Cole not to take on too much.

In the morning, Cassandra chastises herself for treating him like a child. She remembers Daniel and how angry he became when she tried to hold him back. Cole is adept, he is a fighter. He is clever and quick and good with the blade, and Cassandra relents and lets her mind wander away from him.

She will tell herself, for a long time, that it is no one’s fault that it happened.

But she knows it lies with her.

 

* * *

 

“It _hurts._ ”

“Darling, don’t move.” Vivienne seeks out the wound in Cole’s gut, frees the arrow from flesh. “Poisoned tip. We must move him, quickly.”

“Lucky we’re close to camp.”

“Indeed. We’ll have to take him back, this is no place for the wounded.”

The Inquisitor and Vivienne continue talking, but Cassandra is paralyzed with Cole’s head in her lap. He looks at her, and tries to smile.

“It hurts. Is it supposed to hurt like this?”

“Hush now.” Cassandra removes his hat and puts a hand behind his head. “Harding is on her way. We are going home.”

“It is home, isn’t it?”

Cassandra nods. “Yes, my love. It is.”

  

* * *

 

 

Cassandra supposes it takes all of ten seconds for Varric to find out what happened. He is not there, and then, in a moment, he is. Cassandra has been told by the healers that Cole is going to be fine, that she must not worry, but she cannot be moved from her place by his bed. He is resting, and, for the first time in so long, Cassandra feels the weight of everything, so heavy on her shoulders.

And then –

“Seeker.”

She turns quickly, finds herself looking up at him from her seat. Varric is watching Cole, eyes on the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“Tiny came and got me. Told me something’d happened.”

“It was an arrow,” Cassandra says. Her throat is dry from their race through the desert. “Poisoned. But he will be alright. They told me he would be, they said—”

Varric grabs a chair and sits next to her. “Don’t spiral,” he says. “Kid’s resilient. It’s gonna take more than an arrow to take him down.”

“But if it does not? If we are wrong? I let him come, I brought him—”

“I know he looks young, but he’s not weak, Seeker—”

“I did not _say_ that he was.” She wants to be so _angry_ , she wants to lash out – but her heart is too tired, and she rests an elbow on her knee, leaning heavily into her open palm. “I do not want to fight with you anymore.”

For several minutes, it is quiet. Very still. Cole breathes, and Cassandra hides her face, her empty hand gripping the chair, as if she might be vaulted out into the courtyard if she doesn’t hold on.

It is suddenly filled with something warm, and she realizes that Varric has taken her hand in his.

She looks at him.

He continues to watch Cole, her fingers intertwined loosely in his own.

“We are such fools,” she murmurs, and feels his grip tighten, just for a moment.

“He’ll be fine,” Varric answers.

Cassandra isn’t sure if she hears the unspoken _and so will we_ –

But she likes to pretend she can.


	16. letter set 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric: I miss you, and I don’t think I can wait for this war to be over.  
> Cassandra: I am yours, and I intend to be, completely, the moment you return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [panicked laughter]

Varric --

Thank you for the flowers. For the poetry and the patience. I am sorry it took me so long to become myself again. I have no more excuses for you, only my heart, open and ready. Cole is sitting upright, today. You were at breakfast. We shared tea and a cake. He thought it was all an adventure. He is determined, I think, to worry me to death.

I missed you. Tell me we still have a chance, my love, and I will bar myself from you not a moment longer.

Yours,

Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra --

                You don’t need to apologise, you know that, right? We both needed time. But I’m glad you feel yourself again. I can’t say I feel quite like myself, but I’m pretty sure that’s a good thing.

                Good to hear the Kid’s sitting up - at this rate, he’ll be up and at ‘em before I can finish writing his story. I think he’s gonna love it regardless, but I was hoping to read it to him. Unfortunately I’ve got to go with the Inquisitor for a few days, so it’s up to you to keep him entertained - the kitchen’s got strict orders to send you two cake at least twice a day.

                We have a chance, Cassandra. ~~Don’t give up on us.~~ I love you. You can feel that, right? I can’t say it, not out loud, but I mean it every time I see you, every time I catch your eye.

                Yours, always,

                -- Varric

 

 

Varric --

You are gone and I am here. That seems to be our way, as of late. Perhaps it is better this way, though. Maker knows my more recent thoughts have gotten away from me.

~~Every night when I was away~~

No. I promised you, some time ago, I would write what I was feeling, what I was thinking. Is it too bold and too soon to confess that I dreamt of you, of us, together? So many nights, sometimes alone, sometimes trapped between the edge of my tent and Vivienne, or the Inquisitor -- thinking of your hands, undressing me. Your fingers, reaching every part of me?

I flush, not out of shame, but desire. I miss something we have not had, but only because it is so easy to conjure how it might be. I was wet, and aching for you, those nights. Even when I was angry, even when my heart was hurting -- I missed you. I felt it, so acutely.

I’ve just come from the tavern, my first time in weeks. Bull and his Chargers were accommodating. Dorian even more so. I think they know. More than they let on, I would say. But Dorian mentioned he was glad I had come back. He said you were becoming unbearable.

[ _in a shakier hand_ ]

I distracted myself with a bath. Or, rather, attempted to. You are never far from my thoughts, particularly when you are far from my arms. I suppose you can picture it quite clearly. My fingers, where I would prefer your mouth to be. Reaching inside, nothing compared to how you could fill me, I’ve no doubt my love.

It was good to be alone. I said your name, and loudly. It is good you are away as well.

I am not entirely sure I could have stayed away, tonight.

Yours,

Cassandra

 

 

~~shit Cassandra please you can’t just~~

~~I’m stuck in a tent with the Inquisitor and a fucking erectio~~

Cassandra --

                You are a minx.

                Only you, Seeker, only you could make me desperately homesick when I’m camped just outside of Kirkwall. You see what you’ve done to me? You’ve captured my heart and staked your claim, and now I long to be nowhere else but wherever you are.

                Specifically, exactly where you are.

                I don’t think I could stay away tonight. I want you - I want to feel your skin against mine, I want to feel your heartbeat under me. I want to stake my claim. I want your body wrapped around me, your breath in my ear. I want to hear you, Cassandra. I want to hear you _sing_.

                But no, instead I’m stuck in a tent with the Inquisitor, waiting for sleep that probably won’t come.

                Maker, Cassandra, I want to make you come. I want to make you come around my cock, screaming my name. I need you. I need to _have_ you.

                I miss you, and I don’t think I can wait for this war to be over. Forgive me my impatience, but you’re just too fucking gorgeous.

                Yours, achingly,

                -- Varric

 

 

Varric --

All I need to think of is the way you might say my name, and I am lost.

I have spent my evening waiting for the last smiths in the forge to leave, holding my breath, willing myself to _behave._ It is the last time I will do so. I can’t wait. I won’t wait, not a second longer. Maker, Varric, the thought of you, above me, under me, your mouth buried between my legs -- it has made me come, made me lose my senses a dozen times since you’ve left. It’s all I can think about. My dreams are now only manufactured intimacies.

The second you return, find me. Or I will find you. Regardless, I am not just staking a claim. I am taking what’s mine. And you are.

I certainly hope you know that.

I would have you under me, my love. Your hands on my body, my breasts, touching and holding. I would take you slowly, feel every movement of you inside me. You would enjoy it, I know. No matter how desperately you needed to come. No matter how much you’d want to take control. Don’t doubt that I wouldn’t let you. But the first time you come, you will come _for_ me.

A part of me knows I once would have been embarrassed to write this to you, on my behalf and my behalf alone. But I find I don’t give a damn anymore. Let the war go on. I will be there to fight it, but I will fight it with you by my side. As a fellow soldier, as my lover.

I am yours, and I intend to be, completely, the moment you return.

 

 

[ _in a shaky hand_ ]

My Cassandra --

                _~~behave yourself???~~_

                Never before have I regretted not being able to dream. Oh, sure, I’ve got quite the vivid imagination - not that I need it, when you’re writing scenes to rival the Randy Dowager - but to close my eyes and see you laid bare before me, to dream of your wetness around my cock… fuck, I would give anything for a second of that.

[ _in neater writing_ ]

                We are on our way back now, and the Inquisitor intends to ride through the night. Already the Arbor Wilds is mentioned, and I think a change of mounts is all we’re going to get before the next mission - on which, I know, you are going to be needed.

                I’m coming straight to find you, I swear.

                Whilst you await our arrival, however, I have something for you. I saw it in the market - one of the few stalls still out there, in truth. You would not recognise my city for the glory it once was. Anyway, it’s just a small pendant - I saw the image of Andraste’s shield and thought of you. A warrior driven by faith, a woman changing the world. How could I not? And the colour - well, you know it’s bloodstone, but… I don’t know, I thought it could remind you of how far we’ve come, everything we’ve endured. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to wear it. I just thought… well. I haven’t really had anything in my life as wonderful as you. I just hope you know that.

                Oh, and I wrote a little something for you. Call it... anticipation.

                Yours, eagerly,

                -- Varric

 

[ _enclosed, folded around a pendant_ ]

we carry our duty like a weight  
but in your arms my burden is eased,  
my soul lifted by your touch, 

my desire aflame from your kiss.

i am bared, breathless,  
bound to you by a sigh  
you claim my body - for  
my heart is already yours,  
always and forever  
yours -

with open hands, open eyes,  
tongue trailing over skin -            

it has been so long,  
i cannot last. 

you surround me, warmth and wet and  
fuck me _maker fuck me  
_ and you do, slow and silken, my  
lips parted, your name a prayer  
oh, my love, _my love_ -

undone at your command,  
though my work is far from done. 

our rhythm is slow to start, but never faltering -  
 _our rhythm is harder, harder, yes yes yes_  
and i follow your joyous commands  
slick hips grinding together  
i will watch you unravel, unwind,  
ascend higher into ecstasy - 

i am the ground, solid  
beneath you and  
keeping you tethered 

fly, on a shout,  
on a breath,  
on a whimper  
 _oh_ - 

i will be here when you land.

 

My love,

It requires all the patience and strength I have to write this, as well as brevity. We are at the forward camp in the Arbor Wilds. Morrigan appears to be leading us. I am not sure if you are aware of my feelings about her in particular, but you know my heart, so you must know this as well.

I saw you, as we left. I know we will return soon, but I had promised you something, and you have given me such a beautiful gift, such beautiful, teasing words.

I am grateful to the Maker that there will many things to cut down along our path. Dorian suspects something happened. He’s been completely intolerable.

Rest, while we are gone. I am not sure how much time we will have between this fight and the next, but I intend to make good on my promise.

Yours,

Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra, light of my life and fire in my loins --

                Morrigan’s leading? That’s… more than a little worrying. I think we're of the same mind on her - I don't trust her as far as I can throw her. I mean, I've known apostates, I've known apostates with fancy mirrors, but she's... something else. And not a _good_ something else. Watch your back, alright? I need you to come home in one piece, and not just because of your promise.

                We all await news from the front. There’s a strange feeling in the air - the feeling that this is a huge step towards the end. Like we might actually win, if only… ah, maybe I’m just overthinking this. Either way, it’s not particularly restful. Ruffles has taken to pacing inbetween bouts of staring at letters. She’s not reading them, I know that much.

                I’m glad you like the gift. I know it’s not much, but it’s something to remind you of us when you’re far away and facing dangers unknown. Timing, huh?

                The Kid brought me cake today. He said he thought I was missing something sweet. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was your sweetness I was craving…

                Yours, mouthwateringly,

                -- Varric

 

 

my love -- i hate this place. we are leaving this place. the elves can have this place. i am exhausted, but i will be yours. -- cassandra

 

Cassandra --

                _You came through the mirror_.

                WHAT. HAPPENED.

                Rest. Just rest. We’ll have our moment, I promise.

                Yours, patiently,

                -- Varric

 

 

[ _unsent_ ]

My love, I am so terribly sorry. The trek into the Wilds was more draining than I anticipated. I can scarcely remember how we returned, though I do remember the look on your face when we emerged from the Eluvian. It still makes me smile.

Cullen informed me this morning that he fears we will be fighting again soon, once the forces return.

I will meet you tonight. If we are to go into this final battle, let perhaps our last living moments before it be together --

_~~we are going we are leaving i cannot~~ _

_~~i’m going to slay corypheus with my bare hands~~ _


	17. interlude: victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They collide - of course they collide, their voices rushing to fill the gaps between them, and they both stop with a sheepish laugh. Her hand reaches up, fingers trailing over the small chain just visible at her neck.  
> Varric’s heart relaxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vehlr: I wanna wreck people  
> weathered: _let's wreck shit_

Despite everything…

… they survive.

*

The party starts out with the best of intentions, but as soon as the Inquisitor retires - a well deserved rest, nobody can deny that - the Iron Bull gathers the survivors and takes the party to the inn. The ale flows, and Varric smiles as the people laugh and dance and cheer and kiss. Life is celebrated, and he is glad of it.

Maryden sings, and for once Varric does not mind the overly-catchy song about the elven archer. His eyes remain fixed on the Seeker.

_Cassandra_ , he corrects mentally, though he cannot bring the word to his lips yet.

She is smiling, but he can see the exhaustion eating away at her - the less-than-straight back, the crinkling at her eyes. He knows her, knows that all she wants to do is rest, but she stays to celebrate because to admit defeat now would be ridiculous. He smiles wryly. Too stubborn for her own good.

He decides to save her from herself, winding his way through the crowd to find her sat on the stairs.

“Hey, Seeker.”

She brightens, and then blushes. “Varric.”

“Enjoying the festivities?”

“Everyone seems to be having a good time.”

“That’s not what I asked,” he points out.

She smiles ruefully. “Perhaps I am a little overwhelmed. It has been quite a long day.”

“Damn right. Come on, let’s move somewhere a little quieter.” He beckons her to follow, leading the way up the stairs to the quiet space where Cole usually took residence - tonight the boy happily sits on Bull’s shoulders, heralded as a hero.

Up here, alone with her, the air is suddenly closer, and Varric suddenly finds himself without a damned thing to say.

“I thought -”

“Listen, we -”

They collide - of course they collide, their voices rushing to fill the gaps between them, and they both stop with a sheepish laugh. Her hand reaches up, fingers trailing over the small chain just visible at her neck.

Varric’s heart relaxes. He holds his hand out, smile gentle. “Dance with me.”

Her eyes widen, and he knows she is thinking of their missed moments, of that night in Halamshiral, and every night since. Every almost-kiss, every near-miss, every intense stare and sad smile that had gone hand in hand with their letters.

And she takes his hand, and she smiles back. “I would love to.”

As if on cue, below them the bard starts up a slower song, and Varric pulls Cassandra closer, hand sliding around her waist to rest at the curve of her spine. She laughs, cheeks already rosy, but her fingers curl around his as they finally fall into step.

He is quite sure he will never dance so well in his entire life as he does that night.

They move with ease, slowly spinning around the small space, her hand creeping across his shoulder to brush light fingers against the soft tresses of hair at his neck. His own hand spreads across the small of her back, gently pulling her closer. Their eyes remain on each other, soft smiles and light giggles and the magic of just being in the air around them.

It is a wonderful moment, and he wishes it would never end.

Pulling her in close, he hesitates - he could kiss her, right here, in the space above the inn. He could kiss her, pressing her against the railing, claiming her with desperate lips and soft whispers, before taking her back to his room and laying with her, finally make good on all those promises and -

But she is so _tired_ , and he is pained to see her so. Tonight, as many nights before, is not their night.

And so he smiles, pulling her hand up to his lips, a lingering kiss to her knuckles as the crowd below applaud Maryden. Cassandra’s eyes shine in the dim light, and he can feel her love radiating from her. _Love for him,_ he thinks, and he has to step back to breathe.

“Worth waiting for,” he says, voice thick.

She smiles, nodding. “You are… a wonderful dance partner.”

“Admit it, you’re surprised.”

She laughs. “Not at all,” she whispers, and he feels his chest swell. “Should we -”

“Not tonight. You’re dead on your feet, Seeker.”

As if to prove his point, she sways slightly, nodding. “I hate that you are right.”

“Me too.” He squeezes her fingers gently. “Go get some rest.”

She falters at the stairs, and he thinks for a wild moment that she might change her mind. But instead she asks -

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he agrees, and she smiles like the sunrise.

“Goodnight, Varric.”

“Goodnight... Cassandra.”

*

It is not until he passes through the hall that he hears it - the soft words of the Nightingale to her best lieutenant, the words that will keep him awake an hour longer preparing for a dawn he wishes would never come.

“- and tell Cassandra about the leads in the morning. No doubt she will want to start as soon as possible."


	18. interlude: departures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ll see you, though.”
> 
> “Yes,” she says. “You will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [7:49:50 AM] catchbooker: is it too soon to wreck more shit  
> [7:52:38 AM] v: NEVER TOO SOON  
> [7:52:46 AM] v: GET THEM RECKT
> 
> so here i am, wrecking shit. --w.l.

My Cassandra --

                I know you’re going to be upset with me, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Maker, believe _that_ much at least. But we both knew that this was coming, and I… I am still something of a coward.

                Last night, we danced. Oh, Cassandra, how we danced. It was the most perfect ending to a victory as any I have ever experienced in my life, and I would not have changed a single moment of it. You were radiant. You were grace. You were, in fact, everything I could ever have asked for in a dance partner, and I will not forget last night so long as I live.

                And then the reality of our worlds set in. I overheard Nightingale - or should that be Most Holy, now? - talking to Charter as I headed towards my bed. You might have been informed already by the time you read this, I don’t know. But she had leads for you - and I didn’t need to be a mind-reader to guess what those leads were for.

                You’re rebuilding the Seeker Order. And that’s good. That’s right.

                But I’m not a Seeker, and I’m sure as hell not going to be the reason you put off following those leads. Not when I have my own order to rebuild. I always said I’d go back, but… visiting Kirkwall really threw into perspective how much work is ahead of me.

                I was there for a day, whilst our esteemed Inquisitor browsed the wares of the Emporium. Do you know how much I got done? I found suppliers for the clinics, I hired bodyguards for the farmers to transport their goods into the city and I signed a deal to arrange for aid to be sent from Ostwick. In one day, Cassandra! I thought I was on top of the situation through written communication, but… I need to help them. I need to be there to help them, and if I go now…

                Cassandra, I love you. I don’t think I will ever love anyone more than I love you. But right now our paths are splitting. I know, in my heart, that we will have our day in the sun. I know we will. It’s just not today. You understand, right? If I’m wrong… shit, if I’m wrong, just tell me, and I will come running straight back and we’ll work this out, but… your people need you, and my people need me, and our dance will have to wait a few songs more.

                When we next meet, I will be the man you deserve, if you’ll still have me. I promise you.

                And hey, any time you’re in Kirkwall, feel free to come and ‘interrogate’ me! I’m sure this time will be a lot more interesting...

                Yours, always and forever,

                -- Varric

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cassandra spends longer than usual in bed. Curled on her side, eyes unfocused, she stares at the point beyond the wall, beyond the keep, beyond all of the world. The note from Leliana lies next to her bedroll, folded neatly – it’s a list of names and places, people she should talk to, cities she should visit. Cassandra closes her eyes, blinks back the burn of tears.

She wishes a secret order could simply rebuild itself.

There are no smiths in the forge this morning. They are still sleeping off their hangovers, she’s sure. An army with no war to fight needs no swords. She sighs and sits up. The sound used to be so comforting. She misses it, a bit. Carefully, she stands, feeling the strain of a long, hard battle. Her bones ache, and there is a great and terrible bruise beginning to stretch over her side. She looks in the dingy mirror leaning against her wall, lifting her tunic to inspect it. It will ache for some time.

She dresses for the day – there is work to do, things to finish. Leliana will be departing at the end of the week. She must bid her friend goodbye. Cassandra stretches, looking for her boots.

Varric’s letter is still on her desk.

 _My Cassandra_.

Her heart _twists._

The ache comes to her, unbidden, without permission. That, she thinks, is the worst part of it. The pain does not wait for her to allow it. It does as it pleases, and suddenly she is gripping the paper in her hands and cursing them both. Why have they been so foolish? She bites her fist – even in private, she hates to hear herself cry. Exhaustion forces her heart to topple over, and now it comes full force.

_When we next meet, I will be the man you deserve, if you’ll still have me. I promise you._

 “Stupid, stupid man.” Cassandra laughs through the sobs that steal her peace. “I will always have you.”

 

* * *

 

 

She hardly has time during the week to see him. He is flooded with correspondence, and she is welcoming back the stragglers of their forces. Cullen has never looked so relieved.

“Tell me.” He leans against the low fence of the sparring ring. “Is it true you’re going to rebuild the Seekers?”

“I will do what I can.”

“I’m sure you will do much more than that,” Cullen says quietly. He smiles. Cassandra leans with him. “Despite your attachments though, hmm?” She follows his gaze across the courtyard. Varric is in the middle of an animated discussion with Bull. The Qunari roars with laughter and cuffs his shoulder, sending Varric stumbling. When he catches himself, he also catches her eyes.

Cassandra blushes and looks down at her boots.

“I must do what must be done,” she says.

“I know, Cassandra.” Cullen puts a strong hand on her shoulder. “The time will come.”

Maker, but she wishes it wouldn’t.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, but you _can’t_ go!” The Inquisitor has been trying to talk Varric into staying a month longer for four days.

“You know I have to. You saw what needed to be done.”

“Yes, but I’m pretending I need you more. _We_ need you more.” Cassandra catches their eye. “Some of us will miss you terribly.”

Varric sighs. There’s a wagon with a handful of soldiers heading back to the Marches on it, and he’ll be going back with them. He tosses his bag of meager possession up, then hands Bianca to one of the girls.

“I know,” he says.

His goodbyes are sincere, and heartfelt. He shakes Blackwall’s hand, teases Sera for crying, and lets Bull lift him into a full body hug. Dorian plays it all off, while Vivienne gives him a kiss on the cheek. Cole lets Varric wear his hat, for a moment.

“Always wanted to do that.”

“Yes,” Cole says, grinning. “I know.”

He says goodbye to the Advisors, and Josephine weeps openly. He hugs the Inquisitor, and promises they’ll always have a place in Kirkwall.

Cassandra stands straight and narrow, staring ahead.

“Seeker.”

“Varric.” She has no idea what to say, or do. Everyone is pretending not to look. Their tension, and their affection, has become the worst kept secret in Skyhold. Cassandra blames Bull and Dorian. “I will…miss you,” she says.

He laughs. “Hey. C’mere.” Cassandra bends down and lets him wrap his arms around her.

_They danced and it was more than she could bear, more intimate than any letter, than any imagined tryst._

“Write,” he says.

Cassandra feels the most gentle, barest brush of his lips against her neck.

She shivers.

Varric pulls back and takes her hand, grips it tight.

“I’ll see you, though.”

“Yes,” she says. “You will.”

 

* * *

 

 

She stands for a long time, watching the carriage become a blur, a speck, a dot – and then, nothing.

“He misses you already.” Cassandra feels Cole’s hand on her arm. “And he loves you immeasurably.”

Cassandra turns, and lets herself be folded into the boy’s embrace.

“Yes,” she says. “I know.”

“You can be upset. They’re your feelings. You should feel them.”

“I am too tired.”

Cole nods. “I know. It’s been a long journey. For you. For you both. For everyone.”

“It has.” Cassandra pulls back. “Let us get a drink. You did well.”

“I did, didn’t I?” She laughs and Cole smiles. “That’s his favorite noise. Your laughter.”

“Oh, _Cole._ ”

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”

Cassandra shakes her head. “No. Do not stop. Never, not with me.”

 

* * *

 

 

When the time comes for Cassandra to leave herself, she does not intend for there to be fanfare. She packs simply, and begins to make her way down the stairs. The sun has barely risen over the horizon. She will miss the smell and sound of Skyhold so early in the morning.

“You would go without saying goodbye?”

“Leliana!”

The spymaster laughs and steps forward, holding something in her hands. “I thought you would leave before me,” she says.

“I thought it would be…easier.”

“Is it?”

Cassandra sighs. “No.” She steps forward and wraps her arms around her friend, closing her eyes. “None of this has been easy.”

“But has it been worth it?”

She laughs. “You know the answer to that.”

Leliana smiles. “I do.” She holds out her hands. “This is for you. From myself and the others. Cullen was worried you would walk yourself to death in the rain.”

“Oh.” Cassandra takes it. It’s a traveling cloak, new and thick and sturdy in her hands. “It is…it is lovely.” She closes her eyes. _No. Not now. Not here. Not like this_ —

“In time, you will have what you desire.” Leliana takes the cloak from her and swings it around Cassandra’s shoulders. “Peace. Familiarity.” Hands together, gripped tight, the Left and Right make a fist – “Love.”

Cassandra looks up quickly. “I—”

“Do not give up, not on that.”

“I will not.”

“Good. Now. Go into the tavern and say goodbye to your friends. They would be bereft if you did not.” Leliana turns to go back inside, and Cassandra stands in the chill of the morning before she goes to bid the Inquisitor and the rest of their companions farewell.


	19. letter set 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric: I love you, Cassandra toomanynames Pentaghast  
> Cassandra: I think I loved you long before I was able to understand it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [someone](http://jahaliel.tumblr.com/) wrote [poetry](http://jahaliel.tumblr.com/post/130811312545/time-in-the-sun) about this story. you upset us.
> 
> have this.

My Cassandra, bright and beautiful --

                If you are a fool, then I am far worse for leaving the one I love behind, no matter the reason. I knew it would be hard, but I didn’t really anticipate the searing pain in my chest as I got closer and closer to the Waking Sea. I know this is the right thing, but it feels like the worst decision of my life - and yes, I am including all my other fucking terrible life choices.

                Maker, I miss you so much already.

                Daisy met me at the makeshift docks - did I tell you about the harbour? It’s a mess. And there’s a rift right on top of them - you know what, not important right now. Daisy met me, and she knew straight away I wasn’t the same. You’ve changed me, Cassandra. Once I was the kind of man to whom change was intolerable. Now all I want to do is help change the world. I am more than I was before, because of you. I can never thank you enough.

                My room at the inn is gone. Well, the inn is gone - unsafe building after the fires. I didn’t lose much, but it’s another reminder of how different things are. I’m staying in Hawke’s place for now, but I’ll need a plan. Shit, me with a plan. Dangerous stuff.

Let me know you’re safe, when you can? I’m not worried, you can handle yourself, but… I’m a little worried. It’s a big world, and I don’t know where you are in it.

                Yours, achingly,

                -- Varric

                P.S: The raven is a gift from Most Holy Nightingale. She turned up last night - apparently she knows you by sight from several leagues away. Smart bird. Pecked my damn fingers off, though.

 

 

My love,

I left Skyhold a month ago. It has been just as long since I have seen or spoken to another person. I held a conversation with the crow, but I am getting closer to a city. I’ll keep her with me a bit, and write when I find civilization.

~~a woman called hortence  
~~ ~~a man in orlais?? nothing there~~

notes, my love. i am sorry. some leads are colder than others.

 

My love,

I found room and board for a few weeks. There are several rumors regarding a man who claimed to be a Seeker and then disappeared. I have been looking for days, but found nothing.

~~dead, like the others~~

A young girl who was recruited and then taken away. Her name is Diana. She serves in a tavern, she will not speak to me.

I knew it would be hard, but I did not know it would be so...empty.

[ _on the back of the page, in a cramped scrawl_ ]

                                                I crawled through the mud, it is in my hair and under my clothes and  
                                                all over me, but i found a man here his name is Alonse, he was a seeker  
                                                and he defied orders. He does not regret it, he is married with a child.  
                                                they fed me last night. His wife asked if I was married. I tried to speak of  
                                                you, but the words wouldn’t come. She seemed to understand. I love you.  
                                                I miss you.

My love,

The last letter, and I’ll send the lot. Travelled with an older woman today. I think she was a mage. She was gone in the morning, but she left warm bread by the fire and crumbs for the bird. We should name her, she says.

Yours, Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra, my wandering hero --

                Your handwriting was on my desk this morning. I damn near cried to read your words and hear your struggles. I wish it were easier for you, I wish I could make it easier for you. I know they say that things worth having seldom come easy, but still…

                The bird is a little shit. She’s loud and rude and she keeps trying -

[ _illegible scrawl, drops of blood_ ]

                _little shit took a chunk out of me_

                If you want to name her, be my guest. I think she hates me. I tried to appease her with crumbs but she decided to caw loudly at me. I have now left her in the office and am not hiding in the kitchen. Not hiding, Seeker.

                You’re all alone. I really wish you weren’t. Keep looking.

                Things here are getting a little better, but not much - the Inquisitor came and sealed the rift above the harbour, and it’s been slow work since. Under the waterline is a mess. It could take months… hell, it could take years. And until the docks are back up and running properly, trade will only go so far. The Guild are worried, and I can’t disagree with them. But for now, they city will endure.

                I don’t sleep so well these days, you know. I keep waiting for something scary and loud to swoop down on the city. The air’s not quite the same here. It’s sharp and close, nothing like Skyhold. I actually miss it. Typical, right? I spent so much time wanting to come back here, and now I miss that damned Keep.

                I miss you.

                Daisy sends her love.

                Yours, bleedingly,

                -- Varric

 

[ _enclosed in flowing script_ ]

                i have come to hate  
                night -  
                the quiet creeps in  
                and i find no rest,  
                my mournful musings  
                shatter’d by script  
                in my lover’s hand;  
                she writes, and i hope  
                for the dawn.

 

Cassandra, absent from my arms --

                The bird came back last week. I think it knows you are busy. Smart little shit. I hope the search goes well.

                I had a little time, for a change, so I thought you might want to read the fruits of my labours. It’s a work in progress, so go easy on me, alright?

                Yours, adoringly,

                -- Varric

 

[ _enclosed_ ]

                He was not used to being dragged around his city, but when two men hauled him out of the inn he knew his night was about to get interesting. Around him, the streets were quiet - the sort of quiet that spoke of fear and reeked of money. But the men said nothing, and still they advanced, stopping only to push open a door to a darkened house.

                Throwing him into the chair, they leave, and he takes the opportunity to regard his surroundings - the lack of any real light was no doubt an intimidation tactic, but he recognised a few of the furnishings.

                In front of him, a candle is lit, the slim hands around the match quick to move from the light. And then their owner steps forward, and he feels his heart stop.

                A woman - tall, dark short hair and eyes that could pierce a man’s heart if she so chose to glare at him. His mouth is suddenly dry. Were these different circumstances, he might have a line ready. But she does not allow him the chance to recover, throwing a book into his lap.

                “They tell me you are good with stories, dwarf...”

 

 

My love, are you writing about us? I wish you could see my face. I am blushing, alone in the woods, in my pitiful, makeshift tent. They turned me out of the last village I came through. I thought they were going to string me up, but they are tired, from the war. I wish I could have had time to explain to them -- so am I.

I’ve begun calling the bird Countess. That is a title in Kirkwall, is it not? She seems pleased with it. I am terribly sorry she’s so angry with you. But you are right, she knew I was busy. I saw her fly over some time ago, before she brought both of your letters.

You know how I feel about your poetry. It was the only sun on the dreariest day I’ve had so far. So much rain. I almost wish for snow. I am well acquainted with the snow. The rain reminds me of the Storm Coast. I’d prefer not to think of it.

It is not so horrible, being alone. It allows me time to think of you. And I hardly ever simply think.

                                                a wanderer attacked me, maker forgive me i struck him down where he  
                                                stood. the world is dangerous, without a war. men do not know what to do  
                                                with themselves.

                                ~~a young man called Francis, would not answer his door  
~~                                  ~~a woman with child, called Lauralai, cried when i came  
~~                                  ~~another dead end, one after the other~~

 

My love,

I am well. I am alive. Things are not progressing as I’d hoped. Daniel told me so many were gone, but information from Leliana led me to believe there were a great many Seekers hiding simply under my nose. I spoke with a man today called Emerson. He refused the Lord Seeker’s call, and he has offered to send letters to others he knows who have done the same.

But for every step I take, I lose my footing. I found a mass grave. Lucius found the deserters, I believe. He killed them all. I burned their bodies, said a prayer. Sleep did not come so easy that night. I read your letters again.

I keep the letters you gave me at Skyhold in my pack. Some nights I read them.

Our Wicked Grace lessons seem so long ago, but it was only months. Did we really fall so quickly?

I think I loved you long before I was able to understand it. I miss you.

                                ~~bandits. did not pursue. hid in the trees until they were gone. you can read this i  
~~                                  ~~know you can. i am safe. i am well.~~

 

my love - wounded. in a very small village in orlais. doing fine. do not worry. -- c

                left the village in the middle of the night.  
                they were talking in my room about turning  
                me over to a group of venatori. they know  
                who i am. corypheus’ people are still here.  
                please send word to dorian. i know not where  
                he is.

 

My love,

I hope I did not worry you too much. I am doing better. I took an arrow to my shoulder -- it has healed and I am well again. Venatori stragglers are common here. I have long since removed my Seeker armor, in favor of something lighter, and less conspicuous, but I am more well known that I thought I might be.

Please, tell me of your work. Does it go well? Are you happy? I wish I could see you as you rebuilt your home. I imagine it, and it grows warmth where there is none.

Yours,

Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra, my wounded warrior --

                “I hope I didn’t worry you too much,” she says. Maker, woman, you’re going to be the death of me. If anything like that happens again, you send this little shit straight to me, alright?

                Countess. No wonder she’s got airs and graces today. She’s just as vicious, too, she’d fit right in with the nobility here. Nothing quite as bad as Orlais, but they’ll give ‘em a run for their money. I’ve had to talk to a lot of them recently, seeing as they’re trying to make sure the impoverished stay that way, and I won’t tolerate it. Got to give a man a chance, right? If he fucks it up, that’s on him, but he’s got to have the chance to begin with.

                Hawke would want that.

                Kirkwall endures, as it always will. I’m moving out of Hawke’s place next week - I don’t sleep well here, too many ghosts. Gamlen’s not coming back for it, anyway, so we’ve decided to sell the place. It’ll fetch a decent price, given the condition, and the money can go to something worthwhile, like the rebuilding of the ~~Alienage~~ elven community. Daisy insists we’re not calling it the A-word anymore. She’s picked out a nice pile of rubble near the edge of the city - not too far from the markets, but close enough to the gates that if anyone wants to run off to the Dalish they can. She’s very open to the idea of letting people do what they want to do. She’s actually halfway to Cumberland right now, to pick up a tree. A very specific tree, apparently. Has to be just right. Fuck if I know anything about elves, Seeker. Every time I think I understand them, they do yet more weird shit. I swear they do it to confuse me.

                Sometimes I wonder what happened to Chuckles.

                Anyway. I’m alright. I miss you - quite a lot, actually. And I miss Hawke. We all miss Hawke. There’s a statue in the docks, it’s been there for years, but it’s awful. Some days I walk past it and think about taking a sledgehammer to it. That wasn’t our Hawke, no great conqueror of people.

                Today would have been Hawke’s nameday.

                It worries me that the Venatori are still clinging to the world in pockets - if you need a hand shifting them, I’m sure I know an elf with a very big sword and a grudge against Tevinter who could help. Might take the heat off you, actually, he’s becoming a legend in his own right - not quite as famous as the dragonslayer Right Hand, of course, but he’ll get there, mark my words.

                Someone should have your back, Cassandra. ~~I could pack toni~~ I wish I could promise to be there.

                Yours, desperately,

                -- Varric

 

                I loved her like the seasons’ change -      
                I knew not when precisely,  
                but the sun was cold before  
                and now it warmed me completely          
                                and so it was with my love.

                I wasted time like a child -  
                thinking it limitless and hopeful  
                but it slipped through my fingers  
                and now there is none for us  
                                and so it is with my love.

                I look forward like a navigator -  
                the past is well-trodden, the present  
                under my feet, and the future lies ahead  
                waiting for our reunion with bated breath  
                                and so it will be with my love.

[ _enclosed, in a shaky hand_ ]

                I love you, Cassandra toomanynames Pentaghast

                my mother would have disapproved

                                                                                                                                kind of makes me like you more  
                                                                                                                                 ~~bad dwarf~~ bad  son

                                                HAWKE LIKED YOU

                that was important. hawke liked you even when we were fighting. maybe hawke knew before i did. bastard always was like that.

you would make an excellent [ _illegible scrawl, possibly beginning with ‘w’ or ‘n’_ ]

                                i miss you

 

[ _enclosed_ ]

Cassandra, my guiding star --

                Apparently even the trees of Nevarra are stubborn at first - Daisy sent me a letter a few days ago telling me it’s downright refusing to be dug up. This, of course, is wonderfully fascinating to me as an observer. Not so fascinating when she needs my help to get the tree back to Kirkwall. The things I do for my friends, Seeker, I tell you… thankfully, there’s a band of mercenaries in the area who owe me a favour. Tiny says you better be safe out there, or he’s going to send the boys over to ‘help’.

                I pointed out that it was you, and he just laughed.

                Countess is less aggressive. I think she misses you. I know that feeling.

                Yours, leafingly,

                -- Varric

 

 

My heart, my sun, be sure to remind Merrill that trees from Nevarra do not require much care. They are largely self-sustaining, and can be left alone for months at a time.

The Venatori do not give me much trouble, but what’s more worrisome is they seem to have some sway yet. I will write the Inquisitor about it, as well as Dorian. He managed to get a message through to me some time ago. It was nice to see his handwriting, I could almost hear his voice. Despite our differences, he has turned out to be a loyal friend.

It would warm my heart to see Bull and his Chargers again. Truly. I would even pretend to be in need of rescue, if it would make them feel useful.

                                my love there is nothing bad about you, there could never be anything bad  
                                about you. you are not just your mother’s son. you are your own person.  
                                you are mine, do not forget that.

  
                i miss you i think about you every day please be well please do not   
                drink to forget, do not be so careless, my love, be careful, i love you

               

found contacts on the border of orlais, useful ones.

a mage, with seeker friends, a kind man, liked the countess

is there a connection between mages and crows? ~~remind~~

 ~~me to consider asking morrigan, should we meet again.  
~~                                 no that is a terrible idea.

 

My love, I may see you soon. My contact Emerson informed me there may be a handful of Seekers living in Kirkwall. He is not entirely sure, but he believes I should begin heading in that direction as soon as possible. I’ve bought a horse, I will begin riding immediately. I should think when you get this I will be nearly there.

                                rested three nights  
                                some kind of cold, it is difficult to breathe  
                                it reminds me of my childhood illnesses  
                                the healer is a sweet woman.  
                                i think i told her of us.

  
[ _different paper, clearly taken from someone’s private stationery._ ]

Rode more today. You seem so far, and yet you may be so close. The Countess will be taking these letters from me soon.

[ _on the back side of the stationery, in shaky, heavy script_ ]

emerson’s tip was no good. no seekers in kirkwall. riding to meet him in antiva. his wife knows of a place. i do not feel well, but i am not so sure it is a sickness any healer can cure.

                                                                ~~my love, i was so close, i~~

 

[ _torn from a book_ ]

Her heart beats in time, what do I have to offer?  
I cannot sing, I cannot play a song, I do not have coin to my name.  
I have, my love, my heart and soul, born unto this world in  
Service of you.

Fire, fire. I burn for you. Beg for you. Her heart opens  
and I am a lost sinner among the flames.  
She does adore, she does sing. She does, she does, she does.  
Be still, my trembling limbs. Be still.

                                it is so cold. the rain will not stop.  
                                my heart, it aches.  
                                please, i--

I will never get the mud from my boots. It lives in me. It will never leave. The coast is in sight.

I think I should rest.

yours, cassandra

 

 

My sweet Cassandra --

                I’m sorry you were so close, and then so far away. Shit, Cassandra, I’m so sorry.

                _~~We were so clo~~_

                It’s not good to dwell on what might have been. Next time, we’ll get there. Next time.

                Are you tearing up literature, Seeker? It’s a beautiful poem, but as an author I’m not sure I can condone the defacement of books.

                I loved it. I love you. I miss you. I thought it would get easier but I ache at the thought of you out there alone. I hope Antiva brings good news.

                Yours, longingly,

                -- Varric

 

[ _in a flowing script_ ]

_Cassandra --_

_if we sent isabela to get you, could you come visit? only varric’s hurt his_

[ _in a shaky hand_ ]

                Don’t listen to Daisy. I’m fine. There was a small riot, but it was nothing. I’m fine. Stay safe, Seeker.

[ _neater writing_ ]

Cassandra, patience embodied --

                Countess keeps cawing at me. I assume she knows I’m avoiding the conversation. But it really was nothing, I promise. There was a meeting between some of the unofficial higher-ups about what to do with some funding - I swear, these idiots wouldn’t know how to throw a pissup in a brewery - and a select few individuals from Lowtown decided to crash the meeting. I, being the voice of reason in this damned city, attempted to calm the situation down, and in a completely-accidental scuffle I got knocked on my ass and that’s the last I remember.

                I’m fine, obviously.

                Aveline got me out of there before shouting some sense into people, and now everyone’s calmed down again I think we’re ready to try hashing out the major problems in this city - namely the huge economical divide that still exists. It used to be easy - even if you were poor, you could make a few coin and be happy, but with the docks still completely fucked that’s not always an option. We need to be helping these people, but some of the people who consider me a contemporary don’t always agree with that viewpoint.

                Bran’s despairing. Did I ever tell you about Bran? He was the seneschal in Dumar’s time, but since Meredith turned to stone he’s been the provisional viscount. Nobody else wanted the damned job, and neither does he. Poor guy. Maybe they’ll find another sucker, eventually.

                Life continues, as it is wont to do. Daisy’s tree seems to be settling in well enough - not that I know shit about trees, of course - so the houses are finally getting rebuilt. Within a  few months, people can finally stop living in tents. That’ll be a good day.

                We could do with a few more of those.

                Tiny and the Chargers stayed for a night - the inn reopened, so it was a hell of a party. It’s not the Hanged Man anymore - bit grim, you know what I mean? The Reprieve is a good start. Hopefully the rest of the city can grow too.

                Oh, and there’s a very nice room there - the Tethras Suite. If you’re in town, be sure to drop my name for a free stay. Not that you’ll be staying there, of course. You’ll be with me.

                You’d better be with me.

                Yours, achingly,

                -- Varric

 

 

emerson left three days ago. he would not allow me to travel with him. maker, varric, it hurts to breath. there is something wrong, i cannot --

[ _crooked, trembling letters_ ]

the healer here isn’t worth her weight in sovereigns. i need to ride, i fear she will be the death of me.

                                someone took my horse. do not tell josephine how much i detest antiva. nothing

                                good happens here. i think i am on the western border, that is all i know anymore.

 

                ~~if i camp outside one more night, i won’t~~

 

 

Sparkler --

                I need a favour. Seeker’s in Antiva, and she’s hurt pretty bad. And by pretty bad I mean _please tell me you can go to Antiva right now and save her stubborn ass she’s on her own and I can’t get there fast enough please -_

                Give her hell from me. Follow the bird, it’s… depressingly smart. It’ll take you straight to her. Thank you.

                -- V.T.

 

Cassandra --

                Hold on. Just hold on.

                -- Varric


	20. interlude: illness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra wakes in a soft bed, a fire blazing in the hearth. Dorian is snoring in a large chair on her left, a book open in his lap.
> 
> It’s a terrible romance. He must have been reading to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cassandra proves to everyone she sometimes sucks at taking care of herself.

It starts with a cough.

Cassandra shudders through it and wraps the thin blanket tighter around her shoulders. She cannot remember being this cold, but then she is too warm and she tosses the blanket away, shivering in the dark. She reads over Varric’s letter again, and thinks about telling him everything. But she will be fine. Everything will be fine.

After she sleeps.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She wakes.

She is not fine.

The cough is wet and there is phlegm in her hand. Emerson makes a face.

“Sorry, love, you can’t go with me.”

“I am fine,” she repeats for the seventh time. “I cannot stay here.”

“You have to stay here. There’s a healer, I had someone run and fetch her this morning, but there was no waking you.” Emerson finishes off his tea and breakfast. “When you’re feeling right, you can join me. I’ll send word when I find a good place to make camp.” He pauses as he stands, looking at her. Cassandra did not grow up with a father, but this man makes her feel so young when he looks at her. Makes her feel like a child.

“I am sorry we couldn’t go to Kirkwall. I know it meant something to you.” She nods and walks with him to the door of the inn, watching him climb onto his horse. “You’re to stay here until I send word, do you understand?”

“I will do as I please.”

“And get yourself killed in the process.”

“I told you, I am—“ She’s interrupted by another coughing fit. Emerson sighs.

“Nevarrans,” he mutters, and turns his steed to the south road.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The healer barely speaks the Common Tongue, and what words she knows are not useful to Cassandra’s situation. A serving girl does her best to translate, but at the end of the day, there is nothing to do but wait the illness out.

“I can bring you some tea,” the girl says, and Cassandra nods. “And soup? Mama made soup, I think. You should eat.”

“Please.”

“Right away, ma’am.”

Cassandra waits until the girl has gone to succumb to her cough.

When she pulls her hand away, she sees her palm is speckled red.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_~~Varric, I am fine~~ _

Another crumpled page. Cassandra uses one to stifle a choking cough that escapes. The healer visits once a day, to force a potion down her throat, but it isn’t working. She suspects if it would stop raining, if the doors and walls of this place didn’t have a hundred holes, she could get better.

On her fifth sleepless night, Cassandra takes ink to paper. The Countess pecks at her tunic, unsettled.

“Do not smother me.”

_emerson left three days ago. he would not allow me to travel with him. maker, varric, it hurts to breath. there is something wrong, i cannot –_

_the healer here isn’t worth her weight in sovereigns. i need to ride, i fear she will be the death of me._

Cassandra packs her things and goes to fetch her mount.

But the horse is gone.

And the rain has not stopped.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She writes to Varric again, but she hardly remembers it. What she knows is the bird takes it, and she loses track of time. She does not remember how many days pass, nor what happens. Her tent leaks. Water is dripping onto her raw, running nose, and the cough has gotten worse. She spits blood in the morning.

She is going to die here, in the rain, in the frozen, terrible, awful rain.

She’s going to die without seeing him again, and his last memory of her will be a pitiful letter.

She imagines Dorian, on one of those days.

She even imagines that he lifts her into his arms.

“Foolish, stubborn woman.”

“I am hallucinating. You are a figment.”

“Fortunately for you, I am quite real. In you get.” He lays her gently on the seat of a carriage and crawls in after her. Her body jolts as it begins to ride.

“It is a very convincing dream.”

“Rest, Cassandra. You must _rest._ ”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cassandra  wakes in a soft bed, a fire blazing in the hearth. Dorian is snoring in a large chair on her left, a book open in his lap.

It’s a terrible romance. He must have been reading to her.

She attempts to get out of bed, not realizing just how far it is to the floor, and falls flat on her face.

Dorian wakes with a snort.

“Please tell me you’re not trying to escape.”

“I am confused.”

“Of course you are, you’re running a terrible fever, you’re incredibly dehydrated, and your body is trying to kill you.” Dorian comes around to the other side of the bed and helps her up, guiding her to a small set of steps. “You’re very smart, Cassandra. You’re a Seeker, for the Maker’s sake. You know how to survive. Tell me what _happened._ ”

“I…do not know. I was focused on following the leads that I had. The sickness was a surprise. It happened so quickly.”

“I believe it.” He pulls the blankets up over her and smoothes her hair back from her forehead. “You look dreadful.”

“I feel dreadful.”

Dorian sighs. “Well, the fever has gone down significantly, and the healer patched up your lungs, but they’re still suffering. You should rest a few weeks—“

“ _A few weeks_ —“ Cassandra launches up again, only to be hit by a bout of the terrible cough again. She rasps, “I cannot remain here longer than a few _days_ at most, Tevinter.”

“Well, you can certainly _try_ running for the door,” he says, settling back into his chair. “Why don’t we take it one step at a time, hmm? I’ll finish this book for you, and you can argue with me about the arrangements later.” He looks up. “Varric is furious, by the way. It’s rather adorable.”

Cassandra flushes and curls back under the blanket, rolling to her side to listen.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“So…nothing happened.”

“Nothing at all.”

“Just that terrible goodbye we were all forced to witness.” She nods. “Bull said…he told me there was something happening. I didn’t believe him at first, but I saw the two of you. And then there was that scene on the Coast.” Dorian shakes his head. “Maker, you’re both idiots.”

“It certainly seems that way.”

“But it’s…you. You did it for a reason. It was calculated, was it not?”

She shrugs. “In a way, yes. I wasn’t…ready. For anything other than the written word. I do not think he was either. I thought I was, before we defeated Corypheus, but it would not have been what I imagined. I would not have been happy with it. It would have broken things.” Cassandra runs a hand through her hair. “I know that the situation is not ideal. But it is all we can do for now. In time, things will change.”

“Do you see a future with him?”

“A vague future, but a future all the same. I know not whether we will ever truly be together. My Order must be rebuilt. Varric must better Kirkwall, and the Marches. Can we truly make this work?”

“While it does break my heart, it is rather hypothetical. Best not to worry on that bit, and focus more on getting well. You said you had a lead right here in Tevinter, did you not?” Dorian shifts the conversation to Cassandra’s quest, and she is grateful to him for it. She lets herself get lost in maps and the hour long carriage ride to a small town south of Dorian’s estate. It leads nowhere, but the journey is pleasant. She is wrapped in four blankets for it, and wriggles uncomfortably the entire time, but Dorian won’t let her escape, and she spends their outing annoyed, but warm – they split a bottle of wine on the way back, though, and Cassandra isn’t so unhappy about it anymore.


	21. letter set 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra: **what do you mean there was a riot and you are, obviously, fine?**  
>  Varric: My Cassandra, intrepid and valiant queen -- **WHAT ARE YOU DOING**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's it that's the summary.

Varric --

                Your seeker is well enough. She’s resting here. I’ve told her you were terribly angry,  
                but I think she was too exhausted to be affected. She’s recovering. Bout of pneumonia,  
                from the looks of it. Foolish woman. We do love her so, don’t we? And you, of course.  
                Keep safe. Heard your beloved city’s a bit of a mess these days. Do be careful. What  
                ever would we do without you? I’d have no one to lie about me, and I’d be doing all the  
                work myself.                                     

                -Dorian

 

My love,

I do not often picture myself in need of rescue, but I was, and I did. To see Dorian’s face, I was convinced it was another fever dream, I had succumbed to so many. I am better, now. Worse for wear, but healing. I will spend a week or so here, and then depart.

It is good to be with a friend.

I am terribly sorry if I worried or upset you, but now that I am of clear and sound mind, I do intend to ask -- **what do you mean there was a riot and you are, _obviously_ , fine?**

Is it so terrible that you are being tossed about like you do not matter at all? How much work will you do for your city, only to have them throw you aside, like you are nothing? You have done so much, you _will_ do so much. I cannot believe --

No. I can believe. I know it has been hard. I know it will continue to be hard. I simply worry for you. I love you, I do not want to see you hurt.

Dorian will not allow me to leave this bed. I am tempted to climb out the window, but it takes my breath to move too quickly.

He has made me promise to be more careful. There are, apparently, people who care for me. In particular a dwarf has as little sense of self-preservation as I do, according to him.

Be careful, my love. Be safe.

Do send my love and good thoughts to Merrill. I hope her tree continues to flourish.

Forever yours,

Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra, my love, my bright light --

                It was just a shove! And I wouldn’t have been shoved if I hadn’t tried to stop the idiots from fighting, and apparently after that they settled down. I might be easy to overlook, but they knew to calm down after I was -

                I love you. Maker, I love you. I’m so glad you’re well enough to tell me off.

                Stay as long as you need. I know you want to get up and back in the saddle, as it were (someone stole your horse? Ridiculous. There’s one waiting for you in the stables, make sure they didn’t give you a lame dun, alright? Thank me later) but you need to rest. You need to be completely well before you go back out there. Promise me that much?

                _~~I was so worri~~_

                Don’t worry about me, alright? This city can’t throw anything terrible at me, I’ve been through hell and back. Travel safe, and wrap up warm. I can’t lose you, alright? I can’t.

                Yours, unending and forever,

                -- Varric

[ _enclosed_ ]

                He is not sure when it happens, but he remembers clearly the moment he realises it - she is standing in the great hall of Skyhold, listening to some pompous ass spout some ridiculous doctrine. Her arms are folded, her stance defensive, and there is a look in her eyes that speaks volumes of her thinning patience.

                She is beautiful, in the low light. It pulls at his heart in a strange way, a way he has not felt in a very long time, and it is terrifying and wonderful. He tears his eyes away - it feels like a violation of their unspoken agreement. They do not talk, after all… only write.

                They exist between the pages, a story within a story, and he can only hope it is not a tragedy in the making.

 

 

[ _on elegant stationery, dotted with water spots_ ]

My love, Dorian has been so good and kind. I've decided to stay a bit longer. The grounds he lives on are quite lovely, and the horse you bought for me enjoys them. I've called her Madame. She seems to like it.

I am not simply riding about some Tevinter estate, however. I have been in constant contact with Emerson, and Dorian has accompanied me on several day trips to see about a handful of leads. One was fruitful. I met a young girl called Lyra, who had a brother who was a Seeker. We waited for him to return and I recognized him. He was a friend of Daniel's. He was sad to know his fellow recruit was lost. We mourned him together, and said the proper rites. He will write if he finds others, and intends to join again if the Order is born anew.

Dorian has sent along some wine in a shipment to Kirkwall, and I had some of our tea slipped in alongside it. I was briefly in Nevarra and purchased some, though I was running a fever, I believe. I hardly remember it. It is not enough to thank you for coming to my aid, but I hope it will be something to warm you on colder nights. And, of course, I hope it makes you think of me.

I think of you, you must know that. I will confess I was disappointed not to go to Kirkwall for more reasons than I can count, most of them involving the things I know you will be able to do with your hands. The wait, it is agony, and reprieve. I constantly fear when our first time together finally comes, I will not be enough. Not good enough. I can say this now. I am becoming a woman without fear, in regards to us.

You should be careful about spending money around nobles. If you are not, then you may become the poor sap who assumes Bran's position. Or they will try to bleed you dry. I know you are far too careful for that, but I am fearful of riots. You can handle yourself, I expect it at this point. I was too harsh before. Please blame the herbs from the healer.

I cannot say where I will go next, if only because I do not know. In truth, despite my illness, I feel years younger. It has been some time since I adventured truly.

I only wish you could journey alongside me, my love.

Yours,

Cassandra

 

 

My wonderful Cassandra  --

                I look forward to the tea more than the wine. I hope you kept some for yourself, though. We can drink it together, even when we’re so far apart.

                You shouldn’t fear that, Cassandra, because it’s not even a little bit true. Hell, I’m terrified _I’m_ not going to be enough for you, _ever_. I’m not getting any younger, after all. And our first time will probably be embarrassingly short on my part, because it’s been a very long time since I’ve done anything. Like… a really, really long time. And I know I paint myself as some suave and charming ladies man, but really it’s only ever been Bianca and the odd serving girl after a particularly bad day. And that was a long, _long_ time ago. And I’ve never lain with a human before, and I know the principle’s the same but there’s _more_ of you.

                So much leg, Seeker. I don’t even know where they’ll end up.

                … well, I have a few ideas.

                My point is that it might take us a few tries, but it won’t _matter_ because just the thought of you sets my blood aflame. We’ll take it a step at a time if it doesn’t quite work first time, and we’ll get to a place that works for us. That much, I’m not so worried about. I think about it - and you - more often than I should. You’re very distracting.

                I wish I was at your side too, if only to keep you company. Alas, my adventuring days might be behind me - I rarely get out of the city, and my darling crossbow remains idle, though I still heft her around as fair warning. The closest thing I get to exciting travels is a trip to Starkhaven next week to try and allay Choir Boy’s complaints.

                Fun.

                Tell Sparkler I owe him one. I’m sure he’ll call in that chit eventually, much to my embarrassment no doubt.

                Yours, longingly,

                -- Varric

 

 

 

My hero in shining…leather coat,

Dorian still will not allow me to leave. Perhaps you could pay him off, ~~he does not~~

                [ _in dorian’s scrawl_ ]

                Varric, our Seeker has a terrible cough and she can’t walk ten feet but for  
                hacking up a lung. You tell her that she will leave when she is good and ready  
                to leave. We’ve made quite a bit of headway in this awful adventure she’s  
                decided to go on and ~~she’s not~~

                                [ _the page is crumpled, as if pulled quickly from someone’s grasp_ ]

Yes, I still do not feel myself. But I can only do so much from this place. I will remain here one more week. At least the conversation is good. We have only argued once a day, at most. Though there was a day where we argued three times, but it was rather engaging. It made me long for Skyhold.

I received a letter from the Inquisitor yesterday, who informed me that if I set out from this place before I was ready, they would know immediately and “drag me back.”

I would very much like to see them try.

Dorian is having some kind of fit.

Madame is a good horse, kinder than the Countess. I did ask the bird, yet again, to be kinder. I do not think she cares much what I think of you.

I did save a bit of tea for myself. I had a cup this morning. Perhaps you did as well.

Please tell me if there is something you need. I am not sure I would be able to help, but I will do my best.

Yours,

Cassandra

 

 

Varric --

                She took off in the middle of the night. Not only is she stubborn, she’s also quite an  
                accomplished liar. I do blame you, just a bit. I went to fetch her this morning and she  
                was gone. Left a lovely little note for me, not that it does anything. Foolish woman.  
                She is determined, isn’t she? Got a tip, and left. I’ve no idea where she’s run off to.  
                Hopefully she gives you more information.

\--Dorian

 

 

My Cassandra, intrepid and valiant queen --

**WHAT ARE YOU DOING**

I mean, I know what you're doing and I know exactly _why_ you're doing it, and quite frankly I'm a little impressed that you lied to _me_ of all people, but would you please for once in your life be... not you? Would you just stop and look after yourself?

Of course, you can't. You're Cassandra Maker-take-you Pentaghast, you're actually incapable of putting yourself first. And I wouldn't have you any other way, in truth, but... just be careful this time? I worry enough about you as it is.

Sparkler's blaming me. Clearly I'm rubbing off on you.

I would very much like to.

Oh, and don't worry about me. I'm on the road to Starkhaven, nothing could possibly -

[ _long scrawl_ ]

Pothole in the road. Had you worried, didn't I?

I love you, you stubborn woman. Stay warm, stay safe, and I hope you find some good news soon.

Yours, admiringly,

\-- Varric

 

[ _on bleached parchment, smelling faintly of incense_ ]

Cassandra, my shield --

Bran's making me do a lot of the talking. You might have been right about them trying to foist diplomacy on me. Choir Boy seems enthusiastic, but dealing with those nobles on behalf of Ruffles makes me second-guess his intentions.

Shit, I'm seeing a dagger behind every back these days. I know Kirkwall is weakened but it feels like they're all just... circling the wounded prey. And I'm not about to let them take my city without a fight.

Hell, I'm not about to let them take my city. Period.

And here I thought beating the shit out of Corypheus was a tough fight.

The tea helps. But it makes me sad, too. I miss you. I miss your strong presence by the practice dummies. I could use your barely-restrained eyerolls around these nobles.

Yours, longingly,

\-- Varric

 

 

 

Varric, my love, I am sorry to have worried you. I love you, and I love what you have done for me. But I had to go. I had to leave. I had to keep going. Another moment, and I would have lost my mind.

I promise to be more careful. I swear it. You have my word. Most of it. I cannot promise I won’t get into any danger at all. It is me, after all.

You must fight for Kirkwall. Perhaps taking over certain aspects of diplomacy is what needs to be done. If there is anyone who could do it, you could.

If you are worried, please. Ask for help. Ask the Inquisitor, ask Leliana, ask Cullen, if you must. Maker, Varric, ask the Chargers. Someone. Please. Or I will forget this task and march into the city myself and shake some sense into you.

I wish I could. I desperately wish I could.

I think I miss your voice the most.

  
i stole wine from dorian before i left did you know how amazing the wine is in tevinter? it is amazing. it is spectacular. it is not unlike you, though not as incredible. i am certain you are incredible. i dreamt of your hands, maker, your hands varric. how can i not think of them? how can i not think of you? i love you i miss you i long for you.

this cannot end soon enough. but i need to keep going.

it is all on me. it is completely up to me. what if i fail. what if i cannot do this.

~~what if it kills me~~

 

 

Cassandra, font of strength and voice of reason --

                If anyone can do this, it’s you. I don’t just call you Seeker for the sake of it - you _are_ the pinnacle, the greatest example, and you _will_ rebuild the Order to dizzying heights. You can do this, Cassandra. I have faith.

                I brought two bottles of Sparkler’s wine with me to Starkhaven, and I think it’s actually helping my case. Choir Boy liked it, at least, and we figured out a payment plan that doesn’t cripple the coffers. We won’t be out of debt for a while, but at least none of the other city states are likely to march on us any time soon. It’s the best outcome, given the circumstances.

                But it’s frustrating. I understand Bran had no choice, but Dumar should have known better than to - ah, what’s the point in worrying about a dead man’s choices? Tomorrow I can go home, and that’s something I can drink to.

                Maybe they’ll let me take a day off before the next crisis hits.

                … yeah, probably not.

                On the plus side, some of the elven housing should be finished soon. I can move the builders onto other areas of Lowtown, get the market back into some semblance of order at least. Trade will help everyone, and not enough is happening right now. At least the farmers are predicting a good crop, now that the rifts are all closed.

                One crack at a time, right? That’s how things get fixed.

                I’m really starting to envy your dreams. I miss you and my imagination is limited by my annoying work ethic - I haven’t written anything in weeks. I can recall the softness of your skin underneath my lips when I stole a kiss to your neck. That’s still in my heart.

                I wish I’d stayed. Maker, I wish I’d stayed.

                Yours, exhaustedly,

                -- Varric

 

 

My love, I am overjoyed to hear that things are looking up. I can only imagine what kind of stress this has put on you. I wish I were there to help and support you, but you will have to accept my love on behalf of Central Antiva. I’m sure by now you are already home. I’ve made several connections with some builders here looking for work. The politics here are incredibly strange. Some people have work, some do not. I told them there were projects in Kirkwall, and they told me they would set out when they could.

I do not wish you’d stayed. I know there are things we desperately want and need, but there are other things that are bigger than us yet. We must serve the higher purpose and answer the calling. We are guided and led by fate and duty, you and I. Your city and its welfare is more important than my near-constant desire to have your lips on mine. It is more necessary than we can imagine that I continue searching, even though I know where I would rather be, some nights.

 

                                met a woman today, was a seeker years and years ago. longs to pick up  
                                a sword one more time, but she is nearly a hundred. i do not think that  
                                will stop her.

                                met a young man who wondered about my cause. in my mad rush to find  
                                my fellow seekers, i had forgotten it will be more than necessary to recruit.  
                                i have his name. he seems convinced he will dedicate himself to the cause.

received word from emerson today. i must circle back and ride through  
tevinter. i will need to avoid dorian.

~~maker more bandits, taking advantage of the world after a war. found emerson fighting them on the border. he had several former seekers and some new recruits with him.~~

emerson and i will be recruiting together for some time. i think we will be turning our focus to finding those who would join us, as well as those who did not answer the Lord Seeker’s call. it is good to have someone to travel with, though he is not as much a conversationalist as you or dorian.

 

We camped last night under the stars. I suspect you see the same ones in Kirkwall. It is a good thought, to know we can share at least one thing. Emerson wonders who I write to, but explaining us is hard. He has a copy of Hard in Hightown in your pack. I do not think he believes that you are my lover, but is of no matter to me.

My neck still burns from where you kissed me there. I can still feel the clench of my heart each time I remember it.

My mind and my body are of one thought - to have you kiss me everywhere, Varric. Absolutely everywhere. I would return the favor in kind.

 

                                                found a healer who gave me medicine for the breathing. a kind of tea.  
                                                it tastes terrible, but i feel the difference.

 

Varric, my love, I hear troubling news from the Marches. Are you well? Is Kirkwall still safe? Are you still safe?

 

 

Cassandra, beacon of sanity --

                Troubling? No, no, the Marches are always like this, we live for the strife!

                I’m kidding.

                It’s hard to explain to people that rebuilding takes time - well, okay, no, it’s easy to explain to people. It’s hard to watch people whose lives utterly depend on being able to live normally having to endure the wait. Even more so when the fucking nobles are lording it up and making the gap between them and the rest of the city even worse.

                Which is when you get people fighting.

                Aveline’s got her hands full trying to contain the worst of it - between us we’ve done a lot of shouting, but that’ll only get you so far. Despite my money, they know I’m one of them at heart. Plus, I suppose it helps that a lot of my money is going into projects that help the city, and I’m not quiet about the fact that I’ve been leaning on Bran to push funding for Lowtown redevelopment…

                We’re having a meeting today to try and stop the worst offenders, but I don’t know how well that’s going to go. Honestly, though, the fighting is making it harder to do our jobs - I appreciate how difficult it is for them, I do, but… I don’t know, all this is tiring. I just want to concentrate on getting the city upright again.

                I’m glad to hear you’re not alone. Tell Emerson if he doesn’t believe you I can send him a short story about a Seeker of Truth who doubted everything - actually, no, don’t tell him that. I haven’t had a moment to write anything that wasn’t an invoice in a while…

                I can’t believe you found workmen. I can’t believe you sent them here! You’re ridiculous and wonderful and the minute they arrive I have a whole list of shit to pay them to do. Thank you. Maker, Cassandra, thank you. Even so far away, you’ve got my back.

                It’s a warming thought.

                Yours, gratefully,

                -- Varric

 

[ _in a rushed hand_ ]

                they came for me  
                after everything ive done they blamed me!  
                fuck this city               

                fuck

 

[ _in a neater hand_ ]

Cassandra, my home and hearth --

                So the meeting went well. For about ten minutes.

                Turns out that being away from Kirkwall so long lost me some of that hard-earned reputation as a man of the people, and a small but very vocal group suggested that I was to blame for the state of affairs, and maybe I was more interested in the affairs of the nobles I spoke to on a daily basis. I told them, in no uncertain terms, they were full of shit.

                Things were said, threats were made, and now I have a black eye and a slight, but temporary, limp. You should have seen the other guy, though. Couple of bolts to pin him to the wall and a swift kick to the family jewels, and suddenly everyone’s back on my side like they hadn’t just been baying for my fucking blood.

                And just as I was about to swear off the lot of them and let the city rot whilst I travelled the world with my beautiful lover, an Antivan walks in and says he and his men have been sent by Seeker Pentaghast.

                I love you.

                I set them straight to work on the marketplace, which mollified the rabble - I’ve had seven personal apologies already this morning, and three offers of drinks. If I didn’t think that would be a bad idea, I’d probably have taken them up on it.

                I’m just… the fucking cheek of it all. After all I’ve done, every favour I’ve cashed in, every person I’ve personally listened to and helped over the years… you would think they’d get it. They’d understand how much of me is in this damned city, and how much of myself I’m giving it to keep it alive.

                Hell, I could have been with you this whole time, and I -

 

[ _illegible scrawl, marred by a water mark_ ]

                Healer says my leg’ll be fine in a week or so. Bran’s promised me less meetings for a while. One advantage to all this, I suppose. And Daisy finally managed to find a free afternoon to catch me up with her projects, so that’ll be a nice diversion.

                I hope your month is going a lot better than mine.

                Yours, always,

                -- Varric

 

 


	22. letter set 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric: To spend an evening by your side, just sitting and talking? Just sitting? I would give anything for that.  
> Cassandra: Look at the two of us. We are growing soft, I think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !! if you're reading this, make sure you've read the letter set before this, as i've made a double update during the night.
> 
> like a ninja.

I have lost Emerson.

It was unexpected. He went home for some days to see his wife, and I received word from her that he has gone to the Maker’s side.

I am, once again, alone.

                                                                ~~go east? i cannot, it brings me too close to where i was before~~

 

I can finally fully comprehend your last letters to me, and I am enraged and appalled that anyone would blame you for such a thing as economic decline. How can they? Did they forget there was a war? How quick people are to blame those within reach, when it was the folly of nobles and kings too far away to hear complaints. I suppose they think you an easy target, but I am glad to know you set them straight.

I will do what I can to send you more help. I’ve come across many looking for purpose after the war, and those willing to lend an ear have heard what is happening in Kirkwall. You should find a small influx of workers on your doorstep soon.

I wish I could wind up there as well, but I am heading further west. More tips are coming out of Orlais again, and I must go. ~~Leliana~~ Most Holy has offered me a place to rest, and I believe I may take her up on the offer. It will be good to see a friend, again.

The fact that people are so willing to assault you worries me to no end, but I know you can take care of yourself just fine. Still, the thought concerns me.

  
                                awoke from a dream. do you still like to hear about them? i am in a fog, still  
                                the tea makes things hazy just after waking. i dreamt of you and i sitting together.

                                only sitting, my love.

 

                                another dream, later. less sitting, this time. more of you inside me, against me,  
                                your hands in my hair, your lips on my neck. i begged. i do not beg, but i did, for  
                                you. maker please, varric, _varric_ \- i woke not long ago, so wet and aching.  
                                i think i woke saying your name.

 

The coughing is better, now. Breathing is easier. The cold makes it worse, but it is growing warmer in Orlais. ~~Leliana~~ Most Holy will be livid when she founds out how poorly I’ve cared for myself. I should have done better. I have been trying.

I would prefer to be completely myself, next time I see you.

Do you know what I think on quite often? How warm you are. You were always warm, standing next to me. I’ve never felt it as close as I would like to, but I envy it on these frozen nights.

I almost hope that next time we are together, it is snowing. I would like to test my theory.

More leads, more dead ends. But I found another contact, not one who will travel with me as Emerson did, but a woman who will help. I have not put much thought into her -- I worry I will lose her as I have lost so many already.

More bandits on the road, but they are sloppier in Orlais. The Inquisitor had passed through here some weeks ago and sealed a rift. If only my timing had been a bit better, I could have helped. Perhaps seen them again.

I said it once before, did I not?

If wishes were kisses, my love, I would be smothered by your lips.

Yours,

Cassandra

 

 

Cassandra, my rock, my lifeline --

                I’m sorry to hear about Emerson. But you can’t let his loss harden your heart to those who might be brothers and sisters to you. This woman can help you, yes, but don’t hold her at arm’s length. Life’s short, Cassandra. Too short to hold back.

                I’m glad you’re headed to happier places - pass on my regards to Most Holy Nightingale, and tell her it’s not my fault you were so bloody stubborn about your health. Not that it’ll help my case much, but it’s worth a shot. I’m hopeful our new Chantry will break ground soon, and I was kinda hoping she’d come and see it when it’s finished, but that’s a long way off. Too long to start planning any feasts, as I pointed out to Bran.

                Maybe we’ll have a feast for the Seekers too. Then you can come visit on official business, and I can make a start on kissing every inch of you.

                Your dreams are always a welcome diversion from my day, although I admit I don’t know what I want more, the sitting or the lovemaking. I mean, yes, I want to make you beg, make you scream, I want your desperate moans and grasping hands and your heartbeat against my skin as I fuck you every which way, but… to spend an evening by your side, just sitting and talking? Just sitting? I would give anything for that.

                I ache for you, every moment. Every second since our parting, I have ached for you. You are my first thought in the morning and the last person on my mind at night. It’s been so long, Cassandra. I miss you.

                Happy name-day, wherever you are. The only present I can think to give you, apart from the promise of future happiness, is something to help your mission. I reached out to a couple of old contacts my mother knew - ladies of the old guard, women who knew everyone. They heard a rumour some weeks back about Chantry-clad individuals in a small village just east of Montfort. It’s not much, but it’s something. Better than what small comfort my words can bring, at least.

                I love you.

                Yours, even in old age,

                -- Varric

 

[ _enclosed, in a hurried hand_ ]

Cassandra --

                Scrap that, bought a crate of Sparkler’s wine and sent it to Most Holy Nightingale to drink with you when you get there.

                Yours, using his brain for once,

                -- Varric

 

 

Life is short, Cassandra?

Too short to hold back?

Varric, do you proof any of this before you send it to me? Maker take you.

 

I am sorry. I stopped writing before I could get upset. I just - the longer I am away from you, the more I wonder if we made the right choice. But, in my heart, I know, and must know, that we did. When I first began writing to you, I was not confident that I could be the woman you could love, nor did I picture myself falling as much as I did for you. I am convinced that any moment other than the ones we were blessed with would have ended disastrously. Not because you would not satisfy me, or live up to my expectations, but only because I do not think we were ready.

I am not sure if we are, yet, but I know that we will understand, soon. We are blessed and guided by Andraste, surely, but you know as well as I that we are captains of our own fate, and you and I have made the informed, responsible decisions we have, and are choosing to live as we do.

I am glad, though, that it does not stop you from imagining what it would be like to make near endless love to me. Hopefully it is something to distract you when your increasingly diplomatic duties become too much.

Would you believe I forgot my own name-day? I remembered only when I received your letter, a few days after. But your gift, my love, I cannot hope to repay. Your mother’s contacts were incredibly useful. I connected with a handful of Seekers, ready and willing to rebuild our Order anew at a moment’s notice. We drank and traded stories and remembered our days as initiates. It was as wonderful a name-day gift as anyone could ask for. I have nothing to say but I love you, and will be grateful to you for as long as I live.

I am but a day’s journey from our Most Holy. I will wait to send the Countess along when I arrive.

 

[ _in a forced, firm hand_ ]

Even the Divine is able to drink me under the table, did you know that? I can handle my wine perfectly well, thank you. Maker she asked so many questions. She will be doing what she can for me, and for you. New tools from Val Royeaux may or may not arrive within the week. I cannot quite remember. I asked if I might stash myself in the boxes. Leliana thought it was funny.

I was being quite serious. I am still quite serious.

I received word again from your mother’s contacts. They reminded me that they’ve known you since you were a babe and you had best do right by Kirkwall. I shall send them a firmly worded statement that here is no better citizen, man, dwarf, or otherwise, to do the job you are doing.

I do love it here. My room has an enormous mirror on the wall. ~~I would very much like to watch us~~ No. I will not write that.

I will write that. I would like to watch you kiss me. I would like to watch you make love to me. I would like to watch you fuck me, hold me, whisper in my ear. It is a grand mirror. I will see about sending one to you.

 

[ _in a gentler, more crooked hand_ ]

apparently i may not send you one of the chantry’s mirrors.

 

My love, I have the worst headache.

As usual, I blame you. With love, of course.

 

 

Cassandra, my drunken princess --

                I know you’re right. I know we made the right choices. I know. I just… I miss you. Awfully. And I will always wonder, until I see you again, what could be. Until then, you continue to be the greatest inspiration to me, and I continue to try and be worthy of your love and affection. I think I made a good step towards that this week.

                The new elven community is completed - well, mostly. There’s a few buildings that need some extra TLC, but for the most part everyone’s moved in. Daisy invited me to lunch to celebrate, and threw a surprise feast to honour the occasion - and the dwarf who made it happen, she said. So, naturally, I got up onto a table and made a rousing and heartwarming speech about our dear Dalish pariah and how she had helped teach me what community really meant, and what family means, and how none of this would have been remotely possible if it hadn’t been for her. Thankfully, the crowd agreed, and we all cheered together as she cried into my shoulder. At least this time she was happy.

                You should have seen them all, Cassandra - all those smiling, laughing people. Kids, parents, brothers and sister, husbands and wives… they were finally able to start over, finally able to put their lives back on track. There’s still a lot of injustice in Kirkwall, but I really feel like this is the start of something good, something new. Maybe this city really can change.

                The nobles threw a fit, of course, but Hightown’s not high enough on my priority list right now. They can put their own damned money forward if they want, but I sent the builders to start on the roads in and out of the city.

                Oh, and you once again prove to be too good to be true - I now have more labourers coming in by the day, and finally some miners who aren’t shit-scared of water or red lyrium, so the docks might actually get cleared. I’m terrified that all this good news is going to come with a price - other than the obvious actual financial cost, but that’s neither here nor there.

                I can fully believe you forgot your own name-day, Seeker. Do you even know what day it is today? Living on the road makes it hard to keep track. But I’m glad my mother’s friends weren’t wrong. Hell, there’s proof of miracles if I ever needed it.

                You don’t need to send them a letter. Really. They’re, ah… they’re just scary old women who remind me of a much scarier woman. Best to leave them be.

                I hope Most Holy Nightingale is suffering as much as you were for the alcohol, but then again I can hardly wish ill on the Divine, especially after she was so generous. (I have to admit, I personally opened the boxes of tools in the hopes of finding a gorgeous woman stashed away in there. No such luck) The tools have been distributed, and we finally broke ground on the site of the new Chantry building just this morning. I even said a prayer in public.

                Funny, really. All those years, I only ever looked to the Maker in the quiet bubbles of my drinks or the last desperate shots of my crossbow, and all that time He was still looking out for the barely-faithful dwarf. Guess I owe Him an apology.

                Anyway. Back to more pressing matters. I have made inquiries to Serault for one of their fabled glass mirrors, but they’re currently on back-order thanks to the Inquisitor’s interest in their stained glass windows. So it’ll be a good six months before I can have one shipped over. Luckily, as a companion of the Inquisition, I got a very good price and some nice wine glasses thrown in for free.

                I’m going to keep it covered until you come home to me, Cassandra, and then together we’ll explore each other’s reflections. I want to see your eyes as I make you come. I want to see your face as you beg me to fuck you, your hands in my hair and my fingers inside you. I want to see every single part of you as you fall apart around me, screaming my name.

                And I want you to see me.

                Yours, observantly,

                -- Varric

 

 

You are something else entirely, do you know that? Should I detail my strange, drunken fantasies to you more often? Perhaps we will find ourselves perfectly satisfied, when the time comes. I look forward to it, my love. Every second of it.

I left Val Royeaux this morning. It was difficult, to part with Leliana. In the past we had our differences, but now that the war is over, it is easy to see how we could work together for so many years. She tried to convince me to stay, but I could not. While it would be a great honor to serve at the side of the Divine once more, that is not my place any longer. Not for the time being. It is my duty to continue forth. I promise I will not contract pneumonia again.

I met with your mother’s contacts face to face. You are right, they were a bit intimidating, and did not miss the fondness in my voice when I spoke of you. I think they like you a bit more now, in truth. They agreed that, should you need something from them in regards to Kirkwall, they will do their best to help you procure it. They told me to say it was all for Ilsa, who I assume is your mother. I told them as politely as I could that she was dead, and you were alive, so any work should really be done for you. You have worked hard to earn your place. You deserve every bit of help.

But they have been useful. I am traveling to meet several Seekers in the next few days. There is talk of building the Order somewhere isolated, and away from prying eyes. I think that would be most conducive to our growth. But I also wonder if we should be shrouded in so many secrets. We guarded the reversal for Tranquility, and caused so much trouble on our own. Perhaps it is time for the Order to step into the light. Perhaps we should be more public with our actions. The Circles have been disbanded. Part of our duty and purposes has been negated. Why should we hide what we are? Why should we make people fear us, when we could do such good? Leliana’s optimism was infectious. I am most likely wildly off base for our intended plans.

And yet...I can dream of an open, welcoming Order so clearly. One that strikes pride in the hearts of those who meet us, instead of fear. Instead of distrust.

Look at the two of us. We are growing soft, I think.

But I think you owe the Maker nothing. It is true, He has guided us in so many ways. But much of what we have done in our lives has been born of necessity and pain. The Maker watched as we suffered and succeeded. Thank the Maker, always. Remember His plans in everything, certainly.

But never apologize for the things you needed to do in order to survive. Perhaps He looked out for you, but you would have died, had you believed the Maker would protect you always. We owe Him only our continued faith. And, perhaps, to love one another all the more. Which I do, with every passing day.

I am so proud of your Daisy. I long for a day when I can meet her face to face. I would like to see this tree. A piece of my homeland, in your Kirkwall. It is a beautiful thing, in its own way.

At least one of us can be inside the other, until we manage to be together again.

(Was that funny? I thought it was. I am not as clever about that as you.)

Yours,

Cassandra

 


	23. letter set 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra: I am endeared by you even in my dreams.  
> Varric: Even when you’re not here, you’re keeping me going on the right path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, several updates in a row. Again, please make sure you've read set 11 and 12 before you read this.
> 
> because feelings.

Cassandra, she of the terrible sex jokes --

                I laughed so hard Bran thought something was actually wrong with me.

                He’s taken to coming over some nights, because I’m rarely easy to find during the day - I like to be on top of things, apparently. I’m fairly sure I used to be a lot more laid back, but now I have to be on-site for the projects or I feel like something’s going to go wrong. Clearly your work ethic has rubbed off on me. I’d disapprove, but I think it’s probably a good thing. Anyway, seeing as nobody else wants to tell him what to do, Bran’s asking me on where funding should be channeled and who can safely be ignored and all that kind of stuff.

                It’s not as arduous as I thought it would be, honestly.

                Anyway, he’s now desperate to meet you - legendary hero and all that. Not sure we’ll have time to go through all your drunken fantasies if I’m to parade you around half of Kirkwall, you know, but you should tell me them anyway. I do like hearing about all the things you want to do to me - and what you want me to do to you.

                It’s strange to think there was a time when I had no idea how much passion your heart held. Now I know the truth of it.

                You’re right, Ilsa was my mother. I’ve never really talked about her, have I? Maybe in another letter. Suffice it to say here that we rarely saw eye to eye, and her ~~friends~~ associates (because I don’t think those women understand what it means to be someone’s friend, really) no doubt view me with a similarly disparaging eye. But I’m not doing this for them, so fuck ‘em.

                A super secret Seeker sanctuary? It makes sense. I mean, retreating a little to make sense of your new order, deciding what the next direction is… I get that. Doesn’t mean you can’t step out into the light after you’ve got some recruits under your collective belts.

                Just make sure you can still send Countess out with letters? I’m not sure I could manage losing you completely.

I think she’s warming up to me, you know. She’s a lot less vicious - or maybe that’s the bread she assumes is left out for her - in truth, it’s usually left over from supper. I haven’t the heart to tell her otherwise.

Yours, breadless,  
\-- Varric

 

Cassandra, finder of labourers --

                Thank you. Kirkwall might get rebuilt in a day at this rate. I’m not sure where to put them all. We’ve been able to move some people out of the refugee camps at the edges of the city, but the workers are living in the tents now too. Bran’s having a fit.

                Still, as I pointed out, things are getting done. First time for everything in Kirkwall.

                I hope your secret Seeker meetings are as productive.

                Yours, ever in your debt,

                -- Varric

 

 

The Countess enjoys whiskey. Have I not mentioned that? Perhaps I should have. Not a great amount, but some. Some, Varric. Do not get our bird drunk. That would not be appropriate.

I am glad I could make you laugh, though I am a bit concerned about what you are telling Bran about me. I am also glad you are working so hard. I never thought you were lazy or unmotivated to begin with. That is not you. I am glad, though, that you are putting everything you can into bettering Kirkwall. I know when I see it next, it will be a beautiful city. Though I do not intend to spend much time in it. I will be occupied, after all.

I will not speak of your mother again, should you prefer it. I understand family is a painful subject. I am well aware of that, my love. But her friends were helpful, and things are progressing quite well. As far as secret sanctuaries, though, there is no movement. It would do us no good to have a location and no Seekers to fill it. We are working tirelessly. My network of contacts has grown, thanks in no small part to you. Finding workers to help you is the least I can do. But you are correct. We may need to pull back for some time before we are ready to make our intentions know.

I do not intend to pull away from you, Varric. Not ever.

Are the tents poor quality? You know for a fact the Inquisition has a surplus of tents that would be useful. You need only write to Josephine or Cullen, and they would assist you in a heartbeat.

This is the only letter I can send for a few weeks, my love. I will be in, as you say, a secret Seeker meeting. I cannot risk the location being discovered, but I will write to you the moment it is done.

Be good to the bird, and also to yourself. I love you.

 

Cassandra, my hidden treasure --

                I know you can’t write back, but I’m not about to stop telling you stories of what’s happening here. After all, it’s what I do best, right?

                So! Let me start with Daisy - I know you like to hear about her. The community is doing well, and she’s really growing into her role as leader of her people. She got all the children together to paint the tree (again, I have no idea why this is important, but it is) last week and there’s been a really positive atmosphere in that quarter of the city.

                Which, of course, means that the nobles are annoyed. Maker forbid the poor have a little joy in their lives, after all. They’ve been baying for blood for a while, since I keep pushing the Lowtown projects more than the Hightown projects. It’s not bias, it’s pragmatic - there’s more people dependant on the rejuvenation of the worst parts of the city. The nobles all have other homes to go to.

                So Daisy wakes up one morning to the sound of someone outside screaming - turns out that in the night, goats blood had been thrown all over the place, and the tree was dripping red. Naturally, I put my best scoundrels on the case to find out who did it, and promised her some better protection, but she waves me off with a smile. Apparently a little blood never did a tree any harm, and the place was clean before sundown.

                The next day, I get woken up by messengers at my door. Some unknown ‘vandals’ have ‘assaulted’ Hightown with - and I shit you not, Seeker - knitting.

                The trees were wearing sleeves, the railings all had hats, the doors were all adorned with crochet… it was charming, in a way. And Daisy says she knows nothing about it, of course, but I remember a young elf fresh into the city being given a ball of twine to guide her way. I’m not an idiot.

                It’s a story I’m not likely to get bored of telling any time soon.

                I hope you’re surviving.

                Yours, yarnbombed,  
                -- Varric

 

Cassandra, mystery in the mists --

                Rivaini’s in town. Which, of course, means that I’m spending far too long at the inn of an evening. Still, I haven’t seen her in months, so it’s time well spent. She asks a lot about you, of course - I only ever tell her good things, and rarely the saucy things, though I try not to give her any ammunition. She’s a terrible tease, as you’ll no doubt recall from my book. Trust me, her characterisation was not an exaggeration.

                She’s been rather busy, doing everything she can to make a good amount of coin. Got herself a ship and proclaimed herself Admiral, and did a few less-than-legal cargo runs in and out of Antiva before coming back to Kirkwall. I’m hoping to sway her into helping out a bit - I’ve got some trade goods to send to the Amaranthine markets, seeing as Fereldan stocks are low and we could use the money. We’ll see how that conversation goes.

                I sometimes wonder what the money’s for. I mean, she’s always been happiest at sea, and she already has that.

[ _written in a looping script_ ]

Cassandra, dearest, are you looking after our dwarf? And I don’t mean emotionally, although we all know he needs a hug more than most. I mean in the bedroom! If you need a few pointers, I can always -

[ _written in a hasty hand_ ]

                No more ale for the crazy pirate lady.

                Yours, beleaguered,  
                -- Varric

 

Cassandra, a long way from home --

                There was an accident on the building site for the new Chantry today. We lost three men.

                I’m tired.

                Yours, with an eye on the horizon,  
                -- Varric

 

Cassandra, Seeker of my heart --

                Countess misses you. It’s been a few weeks, but only now does she complain about not being able to join you. I wouldn’t let her at the whiskey - she wouldn’t appreciate the flavours.

                I miss you. I miss you so much.

                I hope you’re alright.

                Yours, wistfully,  
                -- Varric

 

 

It was a beautiful and incredible relief to see our bird when I finally emerged from the meeting. I could not stop laughing, Maker it was a sight. And your words, your letters - I have never been more glad to see such a familiar script. My love, my heart, my stars - I missed you. I am so glad to hear that Merrill’s tree grows, despite the troubles. And I will attempt to write to your Admiral, and let her know that I am not lacking in ideas and inspiration, but will always be open to suggestions. It is doubtful I will take them, but one never knows. I wish I could say that I am looking out for you, but it is hard, when I am so far. No matter. It will not be for long. I can feel it.

The meeting was long, my love. We discussed a great many things, namely, the reversal. We were largely divided with what to do with it, but at the end, I believe we made some progress. There was a fellow Seeker in particular, Seeker Moira, who made a beautiful case for revealing the cure. I think that the others will see she is right, in time. But that is precisely what it will take - time. In the meantime, we have been trying to also understand what happened to the Lord Seeker. I attempted to defend my actions, but it was not necessary. Each and every one of them knew what had to be done. An unfortunate circumstance, but a required one.

We will, soon, write a collected letter to the Divine, requesting an audience. I may offer to deliver it myself, simply for an excuse to see Most Holy once again. And to stay in that lovely room.

The one item we could not agree on was how to proceed with the Inquisition. We are still fairly divided. Many wish to ally with them, and I made my case for the Inquisitor, and detailed what I saw, how I felt. But many others do not have the same attachment as I, and would prefer not to become involved with any group. Frankly, there is talk of breaking away from the Chantry completely. That I am not sure about.

But, it was a successful venture. We accomplished a great many things. There were sixteen of us. That is a great many more than I had thought to find when I left Skyhold. I have purchased room and board in Val Chevin. I think I will stay a few days, and write to you.

  

My love, you should receive a package not long after this letter collection arrives. I hope they bring joy and perhaps inspiration to you. When I saw them, you came to my mind. I’ve had your initials engraved on the back. They are quite noble, to match your heart.

I found a lovely bookstore this morning, and added a few things to my traveling collection. I am finally feeling well. It is easy to breathe, and I do not cough so much. I sent along a nice brandy and a decanter to Dorian in apology. I’m sure he’s cooled off by now, but I did not properly thank him for caring for me. There is nothing I can do, really, but save his life in return. I’m sure I will get the chance _someday._

  

Madame is enjoying our little reprieve. Have I told you how reliable she is? A wonderful horse. Does not get along with the Countess, much, but I think I blame you for that, my love.

I set out again tomorrow. I cannot say how much the past weeks have done for me. My health, my heart, my duty - it has all been rejuvenated. The only thing that could make any of it better is you. It was strange to sleep around so many for those weeks. I missed my solitude, where I could think of you and do as I pleased. My first night in Val Chevin, I took the most wonderful bath. I’m sure you can picture it. The tub was large and grand, enough to stretch and relax. The water was perfumed and warm. You could have fit in it with me, comfortably. And I did imagine it. You, in the water, taking me carefully, sweetly. I am endeared by you even in my dreams.

Yours, in this life and in others,  
Cassandra

 

 

My Cassandra, my life, my heart --

                I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see the Countess. I even gave her some of the good whiskey, and now she’s rather taken with me. We both agree your absence was awful. Let’s not do that again.

                Don’t write to Rivaini. She’s a terrible influence. Seriously.

                I’m glad your big meeting went well - sounds like you made some serious headway, and it’s alright that not everything got decided. You have time, after all. This Moira sounds like a good character. I hope she goes far in the Order. It’s people like her - and you - that the world needs these days.

                The Inquisition is on everyone’s lips these days - even the Marchers are divided about them. Obviously I’m a little biased, but Bran’s concerned about taking a strong stance in case it courts action from other city states that disagree. Of course, that’s Bran all over, these days. He’s been trying to foist the title of Viscount on to every passing guest. It’s a little sad, really. He just wants to be out of the hotseat. I can’t blame him for that.

                Speaking of which, we have our own big meeting coming up in a few days to see what’s next for the leadership of the city. A Provisional Viscount isn’t enough anymore. Hopefully we can find a suitable candidate from the depressingly-rich pool. There’s few I’d trust, but more than a few I can sway, so that’s something at least.

                I’m glad you and Madame had a restful time. I hear Val Chevin is lovely this time of year, though I’ve never had the pleasure. Maybe one day I could meet you there, and we can explore their wonderful baths together.

                Madame can wait outside.

                Yours, undone,  
                -- Varric

 

[ _in a hasty scrawl_ ]

Where are you? I’m packing a bag and I’m coming to find you. I need your help.

They’re going to make me Viscount.

 

 

I am not telling you where I am. You were the one who poured weeks and months of work and money into your city. Are you surprised, now, that they would like you to lead them?

You will not run. You will stay put, Varric.

Do not tell me you did not suspect it would happen. And do not tell me that you think yourself incapable.

You saved them.

They won’t lose you yet.

 

 

Cassandra, ~~pain in the ass~~ probably right as usual --

                Okay, so maybe Bran had dropped a few hints over the past few months that I just flat-out ignored. And maybe I should have seen this coming a mile away. But I didn’t, alright? I’m Varric Tethras, well-known author and frequent patron of the hopeless. I’m not - shit, I’m not a Viscount! I’m an ass!

                Would it have killed you to let me find you, Seeker? Just a couple of weeks, tops, spent with you on the road, and maybe this whole thing could have been a nice little dream for the ridiculous humans.

I mean, come on! Half the nobles still want my head on a plate, and Choir Boy’s ringing endorsement is more of a headache than anything else, and…

                … I’m not incapable, but I’m not exactly… I mean, Hawke would have -

                Shit. I’m a damned Viscount.

[ _in neater writing_ ]

                Thank you. Even when you’re not here, you’re keeping me going on the right path.

                I love you.

                Yours, apologetically,  
                -- Varric

[ _on bleached parchment, bearing the seal of the City of Kirkwall_ ]

Cassandra Pentaghast, foremost export of Nevarra and desired of the author --

                I don’t like the crown.

                I never did get a chance to thank you for those wonderful books you sent me, by the way. They’re almost as gorgeous as you, and if it hadn’t been for the very slight, ever so tiny panic attack I had over my new position, I might have promised you a lot more than just my thanks for thinking of me when you saw them. As it stands, I’ll have to make it up to you some other way. I’m writing a story - you’ll recall I started it a while ago now, about a fiery Seeker of Truth and a wayward yet charming dwarf who cross paths. When it’s done, I hope you’ll do me the honour of reading it.

                So they had quite the coronation planned, but I told them not to bother. I’m not about to let them spend money on a pointless ceremony when we could be throwing a real Midsummers Day feast for the entire city. So that’s what we’re doing. Oh, and Bran’s still around - he’s a lot happier as a seneschal, and honestly - though, don’t ever tell him I said this - he’s a good man, and I wouldn’t trust anyone else in the position. I’m not entirely sure he’s happy with a lot of my choices, though.

                Daisy is now a Comtesse, and we set up a charity in her name to help fund an eventual school for those who want to learn - she’s hopeful we can start on that next year, and honestly I believe her. The Chantry is all but built, the marketplace is just waiting on some new granite from Antiva and even Hightown looks a lot better.

                The city’s alive again, and whilst there’s still a long, long way to go… what it needs now is direction. And I guess that’s up to me.

                Shit. Still can’t really get my head around it. I mean, I know. I know I can do this, I know I could be great, but… it’s me. I’m still me. I’m still, in some ways, that same idiot who could be found in a suite at the Hanged Man telling tall tales and pissing off Seekers of Truth. And he couldn’t lead. He wasn’t ready.

                I’m worried I’m not ready, even now. I don’t want to fuck this up.

                Did I mention I really don’t like the crown?

                Yours, crown-free,  
                -- Varric Tethras of Kirkwall

 

 

There is nothing to apologize for my love. You were emotional. I would assume becoming the leader of a city will do that to you. I hold nothing against you. I love you. I am proud of you.

Maker, Varric, I am so incredibly proud. You have the chance to make the difference you have always wanted. You can change things for the better. You can improve hundreds of thousands of lives. You will see, it will grow on you I already know it. You are a, more than anything else, a good man. And you will see this through. Besides, you would not have enjoyed being with me. I spent two nights in a cave.

It is time you stopped measuring yourself compared to Hawke. I do not want to sound harsh, I know he was your friend. I know you cared for him. But you are a hero in your own right. You have lived your own life. Stop comparing yourself. Honor him, do good by his name. Dedicate a memory to him. But be your own man, the man I love. The man who rebuilt his city and is loved by so many.

You do not have to wear the crown. Damn the crown. Do as you please. You are the Viscount of Kirkwall. You are, now, without equal. And if you do not wish to wear a crown, then don't.

I'm sure Merrill will do well in her position. And I'm sure things can only get better, now. I certainly hoped you would fill one of the books with a story. I look forward to reading it with you, someday soon.

You are ready to lead. You are, I swear it.

Yours,   
Cassandra

[ _in a quick scrawl_ ]

a source has told me the divine intends to call an exalted council? please confirm, if you can. i have sent word to leliana, received nothing yet.

 

 

[ _in a hurried hand_ ]

Cassandra, my heart --

                Ferelden and Orlais want it. Tevinter invited, one Free Marcher in attendance. And it’s not Choir Boy. Tiny and the Chargers came to tell me the news, and now we’re packing to leave. Bran’s coming too, because apparently he doesn’t trust me to run the city and watch history unfold. Which… might be a fair assessment if you’re coming.

                You are coming, right?  
                -- Varric

 

  
**_Yes._**


	24. interlude: exalted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And yet, here he was at Halamshiral once more, a man apart from the one who had taken a chance on a feeling and asked a beautiful woman to dance, and she was…  
> … not here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have missed the more recent updates, I urge you to go back and read them before rewarding your patience with this chapter!
> 
> v: gonna post it. anything you wanna say?  
> weathered: welcome to the false sense of security  
> v: HAHA it's sad how legit that is  
> weathered: it really is

She is late.

Well, Varric concedes,  _ he _ had been early - a chance to get out of the city and see her for the first time in two years? He had  _ jumped _ at the chance. And though Bran had insisted on joining him, to ensure that the city's needs were still met, Varric already felt the weight of Kirkwall lifted from his shoulders temporarily.

He loved his city, he truly did. But becoming Viscount had not been an easy transition. It had been only a month, after all. And despite the many improvements… the people asked a lot, and he worried still about being able to help all of them.

She had told him not to compare himself to Hawke, but some days he could not help it.

Still, he had escaped for a little while, at least, to tend to the business of the Inquisition. And yet, here he was at Halamshiral once more, a man apart from the one who had taken a chance on a feeling and asked a beautiful woman to dance, and she was…

… not here.

He had no idea where she was coming from - he had only received word on the road that she would be joining the gathering, a rather heavy-handed and enthusiastic single-word answer. He could hear the desire in those three letters, could feel her need through the paper. His own yearning was palpable.

_ Maker, Cassandra. Hurry up . _

 

* * *

In the quiet afternoon air, he catches up with Buttercup and the Hero, denying all the rumours and relaying a few of his own truths. He smiles at their patter, unchanged for the years that had passed, and together their laughter fills the small inn. It is a fine enough way to pass the time, but for the noise of the Divine’s birds in the air.

“That’s a loud one,” muses Blackwall, and Varric looks up to find a familiar bird sat on the railing of the inn.

“Countess?”

The bird caws again, fixing Varric with a look.

“But if you’re…” He stops, eyes widening, and Sera rolls her eyes.

“What are you babbling on about now?”

But there is nobody to answer her question - a dwarf-sized absence remains where Varric once sat.

 

* * *

He  _ runs . _

Rounding the corner with a slight skid, he almost runs headlong into the Iron Bull, who fixes him with a grin.

“Second on the right. Door’s unlocked.”

“Thanks!”

“About damned time!” laughs the Qunari, and Varric offers him a flash of a smile before pushing open the door in question to reveal -

_ Oh . _

His heart tightens in his chest at the sight of her. Cassandra sits simply at the desk, quill in hand as she lingers over a letter - to whom, he could not guess. Her shoulders carry the weight of the road still, but she is solid and real and  here, and he aims for her name and misses spectacularly, instead clearing his throat.

She glances up, meeting his eyes and stopping perfectly still. The quill falls from her fingers.

“ _ Varric _ .” The barest whisper, a single word, and yet she might as well have shouted it.

He closes the door behind him, the latch clicking loudly in the silence, before crossing over to her as she stands up. “No more letters,” he says, voice rough as he reaches up to cup her neck. “Not today.” And he pulls her down, lips meeting hers in a passionate clinch.

What had begun in a keep in the mountains as an idle desire, growing over the years into a well-kept fire, now erupts in an inferno as her hands fly to his hair, burying themselves as she makes a pleased noise against him. One arm wraps around her waist, fist bunching in her shirt. It is a kiss that cannot be marred, perfect in its timing and complete in its passion, and it  sings of home.

She pulls back, taking a breath, and he loosens his grip on her tunic.

“You’re here,” he laughs. “You’re here with me.”

She smiles, a broad and bright thing, brand new and familiar all in the same breath. “Yes,” she whispers, “we are here. Together.”

Something in his chest aches, and he pulls her in closer, unwilling to relinquish this moment to the empty space around them. “I love you.” Her breath catches, and he keeps going. “I love you, Cassandra Pentaghast. And you’re here, with me, and I want to -”

She cuts him off with a kiss, tender and soft, and she pulls back with a soft laugh.

“You talk too much.”

“I can do  _ other  _ things with my tongue, if you’d prefer.”

She blushes, but there is no mistaking the look in her eyes. “I should wash up -”

He grins, pulling her towards the bed. “Let’s get dirty first.”

She groans, the soft red of her cheeks turning a bright tomato shade. “You are incorrigible!”

“Is it working?” he asks, rolling on top of her and planting a knee either side of her hips, his mouth tantalisingly close to hers.

She tilts her head slightly, smiling up at him. “Yes.”

“Good.” He closes the gap once more, one hand at her waist and the other cradling her head as he presses himself against her.

He makes short work of her tunic, whisking it over her head before pressing loving lips against her skin. He wants to linger, to take his time and explore every inch of her, but her fingers slip off her breast band and he knows she will not suffer his patience, not in this moment. He cups her breasts, a soft noise in the back of his throat as she hitches, broad thumbs rolling lightly over her nipples before he guides her back against the bed and his hands tug her breeches down, down, down and off her wonderfully long legs.

There is something beautiful in the way her legs almost fold over one another in her attempt to retain some misplaced sense of modesty. He leans down, pressing tender kisses to the soft skin on her thighs as he parts her legs and moves between them. He feels her grip the sheets, arms moving to allow her full view, and he looks up, locking eyes with her for a long moment. She looks terrified and desperate, but the moment his mouth presses gently against the apex of her legs she lets out a soft gasp and her eyes flutter closed.

She is sweet, with a hint of something spicy and utterly  _ her , _ and as his tongue trails along her opening he cannot help the soft noise that escapes him. Shuffling underneath her, he moves her legs over his shoulders and grips her hips, before his tongue pushes inside her.

“Oh - oh,  _ Maker  _ -”

Her fingers uncurl from the sheets, twining around his hair and tightening. He moans, and she responds in kind, legs tightening around him as his tongue sweeps over the hard nub of her clit, one finger slowly pressing between her folds. She is beautiful anyway, but seeing her opened up to him, wanton and wet - for  _ him  _ \- that is truly a masterpiece, he realises.

He fucks her slowly with his fingers, watching her gasp and cry out.

“Can I -”

“Yes,  _ yes  _ -”

He kisses her thigh, swallowing at the whine that escapes her when he pulls his fingers away. He aches for her already, hands shaking as he fumbles with the laces of his breeches. And then her fingers wrap over his, the laces coming undone and the fabric sliding off him. He looks up to find her eyes, her soft smile.

“Let me, my love.”

_ My love _ _._ His heart sings at the words, and he nods, not quite trusting his voice. She takes her time, unbuttoning his shirt with care before pushing it off his shoulders, and if her fingers linger on his arms, he does not mind one bit. He tilts his head up to kiss the underside of her jaw and she crawls into his lap, his length slipping against her entrance.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and she smiles at him.

“That  _ is  _ rather the idea,” she deadpans, and he manages a shaky grin, the last of his worries slipping away with her humour. Hands firm on her hips, he moves her up and over and on -

Her smile slips, replaced with a look of surprise, and her mouth forms a near-perfect o as she takes him slowly. He presses his forehead against her collarbone, letting out a strangled whimper.

"Oh,  _ Varric _ ," she whispers, and he almost comes undone at his name spoken in such breathless tones, his fingers tightening at her waist, knuckles white. With her fully seated in his lap, he tilts his head back to kiss her, savouring the sensations as her arms wrap around his neck.

"Varric, please, I am  close \- I _need_ -"

"I know," he murmurs, rocking against her slowly and feeling her respond to him. "You feel amazing, you know that? I don't think I have the words. Worth every lonely night that we waited."

“ _ Please _ \- I cannot wait any more -”

“I’ve got you.” He bucks, and she gasps, clinging to him. "I want to see you come. Show me what you’ve been waiting for.  _ Show  _ me, Cassandra."

At her name, she shudders, jaw slack as she cries out wordlessly, and he thrusts his hips, grinding against her as she comes with a scream.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, voice breaking as she shudders around him again, tight and wet and hot, and his hips move again, starting a pace as she gasps for air. Her fingers grasp at his back, murmured praise streaming from her lips -  _ so good, my love, you feel so good inside me, you are wonderful  _ _-_ and he is awash in her, swept up by her love and emboldened by her proximity. His pumps are erratic now, his pace faltering. 

"Cassandra," he groans, "can you -"

"Yes - for you,  _ yes _ ." Her hand slips between them, and she tightens around him, her body begging him to come.

“That’s it -  _ oh  _ \- fuck,  _ Cassandra  _ -”

“Come with me, love,” she gasps, back arching. “Oh - oh, Varric,  _ yes _ -”

And she comes again, urging him onto his own finale. With a last desperate noise of adulation, he empties into her, trembling thrusts slowing as they shiver and shake through their ecstasies.

They fall together, slumping against one another, supporting each other still. It aches, but he lets it, sweat and spittle and harsh ragged breaths against her chest as her hand curls and uncurls in his hair.

" _ Maker _ ," he murmurs, and she offers a tired chuckle.

"Quite."

"Better than the dreams?"

"You already know the answer, you ass," she laughs, wrapping around him as her face buried into the crook of his neck. He kisses her shoulder, pulling her in tight, wincing slightly as she shifts around him.

"I'd like to hear you say it anyway."

"Yes." She sighs, content against his skin. " _ So _ much better."

 

* * *

The Iron Bull whistles a tune, low and quiet. Dorian looks positively foul as he approaches the Qunari.

“Have you seen Varric? I’ve never been stood up before and I’ve got quite the mind to strangle him for it.”

“Cassandra’s here.”

Dorian stills, frowning slightly. “And?”

“And you can’t find  _ Varric _ .”

“Oh.” He brightens for a moment. “ _ Oh! _ _”_ The frown settles again. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I’m  _ thrilled  _ for them, naturally, but I rather regret making a hefty wager with Cullen…”

 

* * *

“Thank you,” he murmurs against the soft skin of her shoulder, much later, in the firelight. She smiles, a soft lazy expression that thrills him.

“For what?”

“For never doubting me.”

He is curled around her, and she around him, hands light as they offer soft touches and gentle exploration. Her familiar braid hangs loose, his fingers twirling it gently. She smiles down at him fondly. Varric will treasure the memory for a long time.

"You never gave me reason to," she points out, taking his hand in hers and pressing a kiss to his palm. "You were  _ always _ strong, Varric. Always."

He hums, cheek pressed against her shoulder. “Yeah. Maybe. But you helped me see.”

She kisses the top of his head. “Spoken like a writer.” 

Her hand finds his, fingers entwining as they lapse into silence. It is strange, he realises, that he had longed for her voice, her presence in his life for so long, and yet now he is content with her silence. They do not speak of the time that will come after, when the Council is over, though Varric knows it is not far from either of their thoughts - instead they concentrate on the time they have now, and he is more than happy to bask in her presence.

“Varric?” she says finally, turning her head to his.

“Mm?”

“Would you read to me?”

He smiles. “And what would you hear from me, princess of my heart? The tale of Anneline and Loric?”

She rolls her eyes at the title. “You are ridiculous -”

“And yet you love me,” he teases, leaning up to kiss her swiftly before sitting up. “So. What do you want me to read?”

She reaches over the side of the bed for her pack, flicking through a stack of letters - his letters, he realises with a twist in his chest, all well-worn and read over and over.

“This one,” she says finally, the blush back in her cheeks, and he smiles, fingers light on the page as he settles back into her side.

“You liked the poems, then.”

“I love them all,” she says with a smile. “But this one… I always dreamt of your voice.”

His free hand draws circles along her stomach, and he tilts his head back, voice low and soft as he begins to recite the poem to her.

“We carry our duty like a weight, but in your arms my burden is eased…”


	25. interlude: mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows he doesn’t feel the same -- he knows he feels guilty, because he is always guilty about one thing or another, and there will never be enough words in her mouth to fill the aching hole in his chest.
> 
> But she can try.
> 
>  _Maker_ , she can try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll only say that what happens here is important and it matters. it _matters._
> 
> and also that i love you.
> 
> <3 w.l.

It is early when Cassandra rolls onto her side expecting to stretch out, and finding herself suddenly pressed against Varric’s back.

He stirs, breathes, doesn’t move. Cassandra feels... _breathless._ She reaches out with tentative fingers, pressing them gently against his shoulder, feeling a scar here or there. She had almost forgotten, in sleeping, that he had fallen asleep here, and neither had protested. She had almost forgotten that he had made exquisite, perfect, _phenomenal_ love to her, twice -- and she had not been rejected.

A laugh bubbles up, and she covers her mouth quickly to stifle it, pressing her cheek to the pillow under her head and closing her eyes.

“S’funny?” Cassandra starts, and Varric rolls over, suddenly trapping her with his arms, burying his face into the crook of her neck. “You laughing at me, Seeker?”

“No, I--” She jumps when he nips the warm skin of her throat, rolling her head back to give him better access. “ _Varric._ ” He is relentless, exciting her at every turn, catching her off guard. Letters were not enough to show her exactly how efficiently he could pick apart and rebuild her desires, and under his hands she is pliant, willing, _young_ again.

“I am happy,” she says, and succumbs again.

And again. And, later, again.

After, she extracts herself from his arms and fumbles with the frayed ends of her braid. She needs to tidy herself, and they cannot spend the entire time here in bed. Varric disagrees.

“That man will be looking for you,” she says. “What is his name?”

Varric groans and falls back against the pillows again. “More reason to stay _here_ , then.”

“You brought him.” Cassandra sits at the vanity in the room and quickly cleans up her braid, pinning it around her head. “I must find the Inquisitor, I sent a message along before I arrived. They should have arrived this morning.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Varric hefts himself out of bed and looks around for his clothes. “You know,” he says. “You might want to ask a certain Inquisitor about a certain engagement.”

Cassandra pauses. “Oh?”

“Just something I heard.”

She turns, narrowing her eyes at him. “I know precisely what _that_ means,” she says.

He puts a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

“I am capable of doing so, dwarf. Do not forget.” She turns back to the mirror. Dressed, he comes behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She looks at their reflection  -- tired, weary, travelled, relieved. Cassandra takes his hand in hers and holds it to her cheek, resting her head against it. “I love you,” she whispers.

Varric angles himself closer, tilting her chin up and bending to kiss her.

It is intimate, and it reminds her of dancing.

  


* * *

 

 

 

Her hollow promise to maim him flares, later, under her embarrassment. The Inquisitor laughs, reaching out to comfort her. “Oh, _Cassandra._ ”

“Why do I believe everything Varric tells me?”

“I can think of a few reasons.” Cassandra flushes hotter, ducking her head. “Oh, come now. It’s not a secret. Not once Dorian found out, anyhow. Cullen’s pockets are a bit heavier, I’m sure he’ll thank you for the win, later.” The Inquisitor pauses. “I am not getting married, Cassandra. But...what about you?”

“ _What?_ ”

“Well. You and...and Varric. You’re--”

“We are not engaged. We have hardly--”

The Inquisitor holds up a hand. “Alright, _alright._ No wedding planning for you, I get it. But it’s something to think about, don’t you agree?”

Cassandra groans. “There will be no wedding if I _strangle_ him before we get the chance.”

“Ah, true love.” The Inquisitor puts a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. “It _is_ a beautiful thing.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

She does not strangle him, largely because it takes a matter of seconds for him to melt her heart all over again, warm hands prying her anger away.

“I got you something,” he says, meeting her in the hall, pulling her down and kissing her, right there against the wall. Anyone could see, but she remembers they are no longer a secret -- and perhaps never were.

“I am still upset.”

“And I promise this will make you feel a little better.” He opens the door to her room with a flourish -- there, in the middle, sits a copper tub steaming with hot water.

Cassandra nearly collapses.

“ _Oh_.”

Varric grins. “Shall we--”

“Yes.” She locks the door to her room and begins stripping out of her clothes, tossing them aside, a trail leading to the tub. She finally gets her breeches and boots off in a tangle, while Varric laughs, and reaches down to test the water.

It is, like so many things about the past two days, perfect.

He lets her soak for a moment before joining her, groaning as he slides in. “That...feels a lot better than I thought it would.”

“A simple pleasure,” she murmurs.

“I could do more complicated pleasures,” he says, and comes to her when she reaches out to him. For a few moments, that is all there is -- him on his knees in front of her while she kisses him, while the water ripples around them and she feels his hands slide lower and lower, until he reaches between her legs and says, “I’d say you’re wet but -- _hey!_ ” She splashes him and he jerks back, laughing. “Do you want--”

Cassandra grips the back of his neck and pulls him close. “Yes. I want it. Very much.”

Varric shudders, nodding. Cassandra spreads her legs apart and feels him slot against her, his cock hard against her stomach. She reaches down and wraps a hand around him, feeling him moving with her as she guides him inside her, feels the burning slide of him in her body, clenches without thinking. He moans, gripping the edge of the tub, and neither dares to look at the other until he is completely within her.

“ _Cassandra._ ”

Mouth open, she rocks against him, feels his first thrust push against her. It is like it was the night before, but also different -- different, now that he knows her body more intimately. Different, now she knows what he feels like, what to expect.

Except she knows she doesn’t, not completely. He pushes against a part of her she didn’t feel before, and it surprises her, shocks her. Cassandra throws her head back and shouts, and water sloshes around her, over the edge, as his thrusts become quicker, sharper.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, and when he kisses her it is rough, sloppy, perfect. “ _Fuck_ , I love you, do you know that?”

“Yes, _yes_ , I do. _Maker_ , Varric--”

“Tell me. I want to hear it.” His voice is pleading, and Cassandra looks right at him, clinging to the edge of the tub, hands slipping over his as he fucks her.

“I love you,” she says. “I love you, Varric, I do--”

“Then come,” he says, mouth pressed against her ear. “Come on my cock, do it for me. You’re so good, Cassandra, just _come._ ”

She does, with a trembling shout that catches in her throat and tumbles out in a pathetic warble of notes. Varric pulls out of her and hisses, and she can tell he is holding back, waiting for his own release.

“My love, please.”

“Out,” he manages. “You and me, out--” Cassandra scrambles out of the water and pulls him with her, letting him push her onto the bed with steady hands. “I’m going to fuck you,” he says. “I’m going to make you come so hard--”

“ _Yes._ ” Cassandra kisses him, pulls him down on top of her.

“On your knees. Fuck, you’re so beautiful, just a little more for me. You can do that, can’t you?” He strokes a hand down her back as she spreads her legs, and she nods, feeling him push against her, hips flush with her ass as he fills her. She cries out, closing her eyes against the sensation as he rocks into her, thrusts slow and steady.

Cassandra’s arms tremble from holding herself up as she finally manages to say, “ _More._ ”

“More of this.”

“ _Varric_ \--”

The way he moves, the way he thrusts faster, harder -- Cassandra wonders how often he’s imagined this, taking her this way. She knows she has dreamt of it herself, knows that any fantasy she has had could never compare with the actuality of the way he fills her, the way he moves inside her, makes her _shake_.

“That’s it, _that’s it_ \--” He groans, panting as he leans over her, hands gripping her hips. She is without rhythm, now, as he _takes_ , and it’s fine, it’s good, it’s beautiful --

Cassandra comes. She comes begging and pleading and sobbing his name as he shouts her name and spills into her.

For a brief flash, they are one thing, one writhing creature, sweat-slicked and burning. Cassandra forgets herself until he pulls out of her, and she feels the steady throbbing of her cunt, the slickness of her thighs, and it takes everything she has not to roll into a heap on her bed -- at least for a moment.

She collapses, gracelessly, and he is there to catch her.

“Seeker,” he manages. Then, on an exhale: “ _Cassandra._ ”

She shivers.

Her name on his tongue will always ruin her.

  


* * *

 

 

It is so early in the morning when she finds herself awoken by the press of his lips to her shoulder. The soft touch of his hands eases her from her dreams, and she slides into his arms and touches her nose to his with a smile. “My love.”

“Did I ever tell you how much I love it when you say that? Or write it, I guess.” Varric kisses her, reaching up to card his fingers through her hair. “Either way. Love it.”

“I’m glad for it. I would not want you to forget exactly who and what you are. At least to me.”

“And what is that?”

Cassandra urges him onto his back straddling his waist with a smile. “Mine. No matter how far away. No matter how many crowns or soldiers are between us.”

“Shit, I love it when you talk like that.”

“Yes,” she says wryly, reaching between them to stroke his cock. “I can tell.”

“You should really fuck me,” he says.

“Oh? And how should I--”

“ _Seeker Pentaghast!_ ” The door to her room rattles and Varric groans, quite loudly, beneath her. “ _Seeker Pentaghast, your presence is requested by the Inquisitor!_ ”

She drops her head onto his chest and breathes. “Yes,” she finally calls back. “I will be there.” With a sigh, she pushes herself off of him, hindered only by his hands on her waist, tugging her back. “Varric, I must go--”

“There’s time. Just a little, just let me--”

“I cannot.” She kisses him, quick, and smiles. “But you on the other hand…”

“You are unbelievable.”

Cassandra smiles as she dresses, bending down to kiss him. “I will not be gone for very long.”

“You know.” Varric sits up on his elbows, watching her search for her sword. “You shouldn’t say those things. It’s a terrible idea to say those things.”

  


* * *

 

“ _No_ ,” she says, for the seventh time.

“Cassandra, please--”

“I will not. I did not enjoy it by _accident_ the first time, and I will not do it on _purpose_ again.” She eyes the Eluvian carefully, and feels the same unease she felt at the temple in the Wilds. She hated the place, she hated the mirror, she hated _so much_ about the way it made her feel.

And her friend would ask her to do it again.

“My dear.” Vivienne’s voice is overpowering in the stifling heat of the little room. “It is not something we all _enjoy._ ”

“Do not _patronize_ me, Lady Vivienne. My will is my right. I--”

“Cassandra.” The Inquisitor puts a hand on her shoulder. “I need you.”

“There are a hundred blades in this place--”

“And I would still take you. Sword or not.”

It makes her flinch, the honesty. Cassandra grips the pommel of her sword and swallows.

Cole appears beside her, but it has been a long time since his presence frightened her. Instead, it lifts her up, and she feels his hand slide into the bend of her elbow as he says, “I’ll go with you.”

She looks at him sharply, and that she doesn’t lean against him is a miracle in and of itself.

“Alright,” she says quietly. “I will go.”

  


* * *

 

_My love, you warned me that it was unwise to make such foolish statements, and here I am. I cannot go into details, as I must join the Inquisitor immediately. Pressure Cullen, and if he will not budge, please buy Josephine a bottle of wine. She will tell you everything._

_Yours, Cassandra_

 

* * *

  


The first time they emerge from the Eluvian, the Inquisitor insists they get a good night’s rest. “We’re going back tomorrow. Right after sunrise.”

Cassandra stumbles her way back to her room -- it does not even register that Varric has left, that her room is empty of him. Not until she wakes, for the first time in days -- and he is not there.

How foolish, she thinks, to have gotten used to his presence so quickly.

She returns to the mirror without another thought -- though she does linger outside his room for a moment, and considers going in to see him.

But the door is locked, and Cole is calling her name.

 

* * *

  


It is another two nights before she hears his voice again, and it makes her weak.

She is so tired, and he is so warm. His mouth is pressed against her temple as he holds her. “Missed you,” she murmurs.

“I didn’t know you’d be gone so long.”

“Neither did I.”

“There’s more to do, isn’t there?” She nods. “It’s alright. There’s work here, too. Josephine has me entertaining nobles as a stall tactic.”

“Is it working?”

“Not sure. Either they love me, or they’re very good at pretending to love me. Doesn’t matter to me. I’ve got a dozen contracts on building materials ready to be signed. Tell whoever you’re sticking a sword through that Viscount Tethras says thanks.”

Cassandra chances a laugh, and he squeezes her tighter.

“You’ll go back in the morning?”

“I must.”

He breathes, a long exhale that makes her look up. She can’t read his expression, but in the flickering light of the fire, she thinks it might be resignation. She can’t be sure.

“I know,” he says. “I always know.”

 

* * *

  


Cassandra loses track of how many mirrors she walks through, and how many times she is expelled back into the Winter Palace without so much as a thought. It is on one of these occasions that she finds Varric in his room, and he is incredibly drunk.

“ _Seeker._ ”

“What are you doing?”

“Me? I’m writing.” He gestures toward the desk in the room, covered with papers, a few bottles in the corner. “I’ve got an _idea._ ”

“I can see that.”

“How are you? You look radiant. Is that blood on your cheek?” He reaches up to brush at it and nods. “It is. It’s blood.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

Varric shrugs, finally sitting down in the armchair by the fire and attempting to prop his feet up. The footstool catches on his boot and tips onto its side. He frowns at it. “A fair bit.” Cassandra nods and turns to go. “Wait. Cassandra.” He fumbles a little as he gets out of the chair. “Shit. I screwed this up.”

“You did not. But you know how I feel about--”

“Yeah. Yeah I do, and I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry.”

She nods. “There is nothing to forgive, my love.” He looks at her when she says it, and she knows.

She knows he doesn’t feel the same -- he knows he feels guilty, because he is always guilty about one thing or another, and there will never be enough words in her mouth to fill the aching hole in his chest.

But she can try.

 _Maker_ , she can try.

 

* * *

  


“Solas?” Varric asks. Cassandra nods again. “Solas. _Shit._ ”

“There is work to be done.”

“Of course there is,” he mutters. “There’s always more work. Andraste’s _tits_ , can’t walk ten feet without bumping into more _work_.” He has been drinking, again, but slowly. Cautiously, she can tell, and from a goblet. Now he takes the bottle and chokes down a hearty swig. “Tell what you’re thinking.”

“You would not like it.”

Varric glances at the bottle and swears. “Right. Whole damn world is still falling apart, and you can manage to find a second to tear _me_ down.”

“Why are you angry with me?”

“Do you _really_ not know? I mean, do you honestly not understand what, about _all of this_ , could possibly have my blood boiling, Cassandra?”

“There is no need for you to yell at me.”

He snarls. “You wrote me a _note!_ You wrote me a fucking note, and then you went off to Maker knows where, and you didn’t _think_ for one second that it might bother me?”

“You are not my keeper.”

“No, but I’m yours, remember? You do remember telling me that, don’t you?”

“You’re drunk.”

Varric laughs, and with a practiced hand he throws the bottle into the fire. “You don’t know how drunk I could be, Seeker.”

Cassandra stands, crossing the room to the door. “I am done having this conversation with you.”

“Right,” he says. “Just like that morning. You wanted to make sure that I knew exactly what I am to you, but you didn’t give me a chance to say it back. To tell you that you’re _mine_ , as much as I’m yours.”

“It was a foolish thing to say,” Cassandra says.

“Was it?” He puts a hand on the door. Not an obstacle, but a message. “So it’s a lie, now.”

“I have never lied to you.”

Cassandra suspects the noise he makes is suppose to be a laugh, but she can’t be sure. “I guess I wouldn’t know,” he mutters. That _noise_ erupts from him again, and he moves away from the door. “Sometimes I wonder if I know anything about you at all.” He finds another bottle, and removes the cork before taking a long drink. “Do you even know me, Cassandra?”

She never wants to hear her name spoken like that again.

“Perhaps I do not,” she finally says. That her voice doesn’t break is a miracle. Cassandra closes her eyes. “You would force my hand in this, wouldn’t you?”

“I...what?”

“This is what you want. You took my note as an excuse to drink yourself into a stupor, and now you will rip it from me.”

“Cassandra--”

“ _No._ ” It’s her turn to snarl, now. To bite and rage. “You do not get to say my name, if you are only going to _push me away._ I love you,” she says. “And I am sorry that our lives and _time_ has taken so much from us, but it is all we have. I did not abandon you here. I did not go into that _awful_ mirror and through those _awful_ places because I did not want to be with you. The Inquisitor asked, and I accepted. But if you would rather use it as an excuse to finally be rid of me, to be rid of this _pain_ , then so be it.”

“No,” he says, and she knows he means for his steps to matter, but his mind is quicker than his feet, and he falls, hitting the floor with his knees first and crying out in pain. “Cassandra, wait--”

“If it is too hard for you, I am sorry. If this love is too _much_ , then I beg your forgiveness for falling in the first place.” Cassandra steps away from him. “And if you do not have the _spine_ to end it, then I will do it for us both.” She turns and wrenches the door open, and means to slam it without another word.

But she says, “You may keep the bird,” and leaves him on his knees, alone.

 


	26. interlude: defined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I love you." It is not meant to heal, to mollify - it is just a fact - but her face pinches, and he stops.  
>  _"Varric."_  
>  “I wanted to say it,” he murmurs, “because it’s the truest thing I know. I love you, and I always will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to all those who have fought for love, and fought for their happiness, apart or together. You are all wonderful, and you all made the right choice as long as you are happy.
> 
> \-- v.

Being a better man is hard. Being a disappointment... well, that is as _breathing_ to Varric.

* * *

He wakes up on the floor, cold and hollow. He feels like _shit_.

And he has earned it, he knows that - has not drunk that much since Hawke's name-day, knows himself better now and knows when to stop. But reason had left Halamshiral when he had hit the inn hard, and now he is left with regret and an aching heart, and an upset Seeker without whom he is not sure he can live.

And yet that was exactly the problem. He might have completely mangled his meaning through the alcohol, but the doubt remained in his heart. She would leave again and again, and he would wonder if she was ever going to back - or whether her home truly did not lie with him.

* * *

The day passes in a blur - between Bran’s never-ending lists and Ruffles’ last few tasks, it seems like no time at all before the Exalted Council is convened to deal with the Inquisition. Varric does not see Cassandra straight away, and by the time he has found her another distraction has walked in - the Inquisitor in the flesh.

She had told him, of course, but he was completely unprepared for the sight, back straight and eyes forward, one sleeve pinned up neatly where an arm should have been.

For the first time, the reality of this meeting and its fallout hits Varric, and he feels wretched - so wrapped up in his own worries, his own fears, he had been so determined that this would be an ending, the final pages of this chapter of his life. But the truth was that for the Inquisition, this was just the beginning.

The Inquisitor’s voice rings out, every bit as confident as it should be, and Varric watches a hero make history.

* * *

The fireworks promise to be spectacular, but the moment Varric steps onto the balcony he only has eyes for her. Her shoulders stiffen at his presence, as if he might say something even here - but he offers a small smile, wordlessly handing her a book. He had meant to gift it her later, a more intimate setting in mind, a gift to be forgotten about in the haze of love and kisses and sweet moans until the cold light of morning.

He swallows, pushing the thought from his mind as her fingers close around the spine, brows furrowed in curiosity as she reads the title.

And then she smiles, a small curve of her lips. It is not quite forgiveness, but as her eyes meet his, it is enough for now. He shrugs slightly, tilting his head, and she nods once before stowing the book away, turning her face to the skies.

The fireworks are wonderful, reflected in her eyes. He cannot bear to look away.

* * *

 

He leads her down to the gardens, and they remain silent as he offers her a seat on the grand stone benches.

"I love you." It is not meant to heal, to mollify - it is just a fact - but her face pinches, and he stops.

" _Varric_."

“I wanted to say it,” he murmurs, “because it’s the truest thing I know. I love you, and I always will.”

Her shoulders slope, and he swallows as her gaze falls to her hands. “I know. Just as you know that I love you.”

"It hurts to be without you, but it hurts to be _with_ you. We managed to steal a moment in time - a moment we won't get to hold onto for long. You'll go back to the Seekers, and I'll go back to Kirkwall, and I don't know if I can _take_ another world-shattering event before I see you again."

"You put it so simply, but -"

"Cassandra, you -" He stops, kneeling in front of her, hands gentle over hers. "You're my heart and my home, and I _know_ deep down that one day I'll find my way back to you. As ridiculous as it might sound right now, I want you to be my _wife_ one day, to grow old with me and maybe try for kids or - shit, I don't know, I just want you to _be_ with me, hand in hand, somewhere down the line."

She opens her mouth to respond, but he squeezes her hands, shaking his head slightly.

"But I don't _know_ that you want that too. I look at you and I see the Seeker - the woman who does things because they need to be done. You'll stay with the Order because they need you, and then you'll stay because _you_ need _them_. You _need_ to do this, for yourself, to see it built right. To make sure those mistakes don’t happen again. And I get that, I do, but I don't know where that need ends. And what if one day out of the blue a Seeker I've never even _heard_ of writes to me and tells me that they knew we were close, and they're sorry to have to tell me but you gave your life for -"

His voice cracks, and he _hates_ it, swallows the noise and pushes on, because she demands his very best.

"You hold that sword the way you do, you fight for good and right things because _someone_ has to, and I love you for that. But sometimes I think your life is always going to be out there on the battlefield, and that you'll... I don't know if you'll ever _want_ to come home, and that scares the _shit_ out of me."

"Oh, _Varric_ -" She sounds hurt, and he offers a shrug and a weak smile. 

“You left me a note and all I could think was, this is how it’s going to be. You, leaving me for the next fight, the next adventure, for the rest of my life. And I’m sorry for how I dealt with it, I truly am. I pushed when I should have stopped, I shouted when I should have listened. I was hurt, but that gave me no right to hurt you.”

She is beautiful, and she is _crying_ , and it breaks his heart. He reaches up to brush the tears from her cheek, but she catches his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm.

He swallows, his own tears threatening to fall.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I didn't want to upset you.”

“You… you _stupid_ \- stupid, insufferable _idiot_ ,” she whispers. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“You clearly do _not_ if you think - if you could _ever_ think that I would not want -”

“You walk towards your future with such confidence, Cassandra. And I realised, watching you… that’s your path right now, to fight and win and shape the world. Just as mine is to rebuild Kirkwall. And our path, our story? I thought we would join up here. I thought that we’d waited long enough, that somehow it would work. But I was wrong, we’re not on the right path yet. And I just… I just need to know that we _will_ be, one day. I can wait for that - I will always, _always_ wait for you. I just have to know that I’m not the only one waiting.”

Her fingers tighten around his, knuckles white. “You fool,” she whispers, “why must you doubt us?”

“I don’t know, maybe because I don’t exactly make great choices most of the time? Maybe because we were right when we said we don’t know each other? I don’t… I don’t know. And I don’t doubt _you_ , alright? I just…” He shrugs again. “I don’t _know_. And I have to. I _have_ to know it ends alright. Curse of the writer, I guess.”

Pulling his hands to her lips, she kisses his knuckles. “I want to believe that it will,” she says finally. “I want _you_. I want you to be my home.”

Something in his chest shifts, and he lets out a long sigh. “Good.” A sharp laugh escapes him. “Good. Okay. We can work on that, right? We both want that, one day. And I’m not - I’m not saying I want you to give up anything and come back to me right now. I _know_ you’re right, I know the Seekers need you and the Inquisitor needs you and -”

“I have a lot of work ahead of me,” she agrees quietly.

“We both do. And it has to be done, and that’s okay. I’ll write, I’ll send you whatever help I can. It won’t be as easy as before, but… I suppose that’s the point. The best things aren’t just given to us. They take work, and time. And you are… Cassandra, you are the best thing I have _ever_ -”

She slips from the bench, kneeling in front of him, arms around his neck as she hugs him tight. “ _That_ is home,” she whispers. “The way you say my name, my love… _that_ is home.”

He swallows, holding her close. “Cassandra, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never meant for -”

“Do not be sorry. I am tired of feeling this way. I am so _tired_.”

“I know.” He closes his eyes as she sighs. “Maker, I know.”

She shivers in his arms, and he cries - whether from sheer relief or just the aching remnants of their fight, it does not matter. They hold each other for a long time, tears and the tired exhales of two people exhausted by time.

* * *

His room is all but empty when he leads her back - possessions packed away, letters neatly folded, and the Countess absent from her perch. The mess of bottles and glass have been cleared away, and the smell that had lingered overnight is gone - of this, he is indebted to Bran, he has no doubt.

“When do you leave?” she asks softly.

“Midday.”

“So soon?”

“Isn’t it always the way?” He gestures to the bed, kneeling to pull off her boots as she sits. “For now, anyway.”

“For now,” she agrees quietly. “But not always.”

He nods, hands lingering on her legs before standing to remove his own boots. “I promised you I’d be better. I’d be worthy of you. And I failed you in that.”

She reaches for his hand. “You did not have to promise me anything.”

“You’re right. I should have promised myself.” He pushes her gently against the bed, nestling in the crook of her body as he props his head up on one arm to smile down at her. “I was so busy trying to be a man worthy of you, that I forgot to be better for myself. But I’ll work on that.”

Her hand comes up to his face, thumb light against his cheek. “And I will work on my letters. For you to have felt this way, all this time… it worries me that my heart is not clear on the pages. I would have you understand my desires better.” She offers a small smile. “I would have you know my heart in every word I write, my love.”

“I understand better already,” he promises. “And I know it won’t be easy, but… I’ll try to make it easier for you, any way that I can.”

She nods, before resting her head against his arm. “You were right.”

“Not a sentence I hear very often,” he teases.

She pulls a face, despite the smile. “Ass.”

“Sorry. What about?”

“I am… I _am_ yours, as much as you are mine.”

He kisses her forehead. “I shouldn’t have needed to hear it. I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

“Kiss me,” she whispers, “and that is apology enough for today.”

Her lips are soft against his. He cups her face, angling her head to deepen the kiss, tender but passionate and all-consuming. He wants to stay here, in this moment, forever. But they have a long journey ahead, and he pulls back to regard her.

“You should rest.”

“Varric, I want -”

He smiles weakly. “You’re _exhausted_ , Cassandra. You need to sleep.” He kisses her brow, before pulling away to help her disrobe. “Sleep, and in the morning we’ll say our goodbyes properly.”

“Stay with me,” she murmurs.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He shucks off his trousers, taking off his tunic, and she pulls him back down to the bed, arms wrapping around his waist. It does not take long for her breathing to even out, and Varric watches her for only a moment before letting sleep claim him too.

* * *

He wakes before the dawn, pressed against her back.

At some point during the night, she must have felt the chill on her back, for now he finds her clothed in his own tunic, arms bundled up underneath her head. There is a softness to her expression that pulls at his heart, and he gently pulls his tunic back onto her bared shoulder, a soft kiss to the exposed skin of her neck.

“Mm -”

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, and she rolls over with a sleepy smile.

“Varric.”

Her hands are cool against his arms, running over his shoulders, and he captures her fingers, pressing a kiss to them. “There’s time yet.”

“ _Varric_.”

“Cassandra -”

She shivers, pulling him down into a soft kiss, and he sighs against her lips, one arm wrapping around her waist as he presses his body against her.

“Good morning,” he growls, and she laughs against his neck, fingers light in his hair.

“Only just,” she admits, “but I did not wish to waste our last few hours together.”

“You stole my shirt. _Sneaky_ , Seeker.”

“I was cold!”

“You once said I was warm, you should have just come over here.”

Her lips quirk into a smirk. “I did.”

“Oh. Well, then, I suppose you were just covering all the bases.” He tugs lightly on the hem of the fabric, revealing her shoulder again as he kisses her skin. “You look _good_.”

“Do I?”

“Mm.” He lifts the fabric, pressing more soft kisses to her stomach. “Better without it,” he adds, sliding it over her breasts, and she hitches at the light touch.

"Varric," she whines, and his cock throbs, his mouth hot against her breast as he pays tribute to her body. “Varric, you _tease_ me so -”

“S’what you get for stealing my shirt,” he growls.

“Then I shall make a habit of - _oh_ -”

He slides along her side, pinning her leg with his as he grabs her hand. “Will you think of me, Cassandra? Will you miss my touch when we are far away from here?”

“Always, my love, always -”

His hand guides hers, fingers entwining between her legs. “Show me,” he whispers. “And next time you’re alone, remember this - our hands, together.”

She turns her face to him, cheek pressed against his as she whimpers, their fingers sliding against her clit as her hips buck against his touch. “ _Please_ -”

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” He smiles, pressing a kiss to her neck. “I will always think of you like this - hot and wet and begging for me.”

“I want -” She cries out as he pushes a finger slowly into her. “I want to see _you_ -”

He chuckles into the crook of her neck. “I can’t promise I won’t fuck you -”

She stops, pushing him away as she forces him onto his back. “Then get on with it,” she pants, on her knees and watching him hungrily as her hand trails back down between her legs.

“Cassandra…”

“Get on with it,” she repeats, firmer now as her hips roll, and his fingers wrap around his cock, her wetness smeared into his skin. “You tell me that I am beautiful, but… I know of no finer sight than you coming undone, my love.”

She is glorious above him, triumphant as she fucks her fingers, and he _aches_ for her, his hand moving at a punishing pace. “Come with me,” he moans, “fuck, Cassandra, _please_ \- come with me, I _need_ -”

“When you are alone, remember _this_ , my love,” she whispers, and her head falls back as she falls apart, shaking and crying out, and Varric lets out a guttural noise, fisting his length hard as he comes, striping her stomach.

She falls back on her haunches, breathing deeply as she trails a finger through the mess on her skin. “Oh.”

“Sorry.” He grabs his tunic, but she laughs, snatching it from him before pushing him away.

“I will wash.” She rises from the bed on shaky legs, pattering over to the small washbasin, and Varric admires her form with a lazy smirk.

“ _Definitely_ a good morning,” he drawls.

* * *

They come together once more, slow and close with whispered endearments as she rocks in his lap, his hands around her waist and her fingers in his hair. It is a wonderful moment, but the dawn passes and it is over all too soon.

“You take her. I’m sure that only paperwork awaits me for now. I want to hear about your adventures,” he smiles.

Cassandra pulls a face as she adjusts the buckles on her boots. “You speak as if I will be joining my brothers straight away. No doubt Most Holy will desire my services before I go.”

“Countess _loves_ Nightingale! So it’s settled.”

She laughs. “Fine, if only to save your fingers from another brutal attack.”

“Oh, and -” He stops, carefully pulling out one of his earrings. “Here.”

“What is this?”

“It’s temporary. I’ll get you something better.” He reaches for her pendant, slotting the small ring of metal onto the chain. “It’s a promise, to work harder. To complain less and to appreciate you more.” He smiles up at her, fingers light as he tucks the chain away again, straightening her collar. “And to love you, always.”

She lets out a soft sigh, bowing to kiss him. “You need not give me anything to remind me of that,” she murmurs against his mouth.

“Like I said, temporary. By the time you come home, I’ll have something better.” He only hopes her fingers stay the same size - but then again, he thinks with a grin, he knows a guy who can resize rings.

She takes his hand, fingers squeezing softly, and they walk through the halls together, emerging in the gardens once more. At the far end, Varric can see Bran directing the servants to load the carriage, and he falters.

“Varric?”

He looks up at her, and his distress must be evident as her own face falls. “Cassandra, it… it won’t be another two years, will it?”

“I do not know,” she admits softly, “but I hope not.”

He swallows, tugging on her hand gently. “Well, just in case -” And his free hand rests on her waist, pulling her in close.

“Varric!”

“Dance with me?”

She smiles sadly. “There is no music, my love.”

“Then I’ll -”

Beyond the gates, Maryden starts a slow ballad, and Varric risks a glance to see Cole sat on the gate-post, legs swinging as he beams at his lover.

“Dance with me,” he repeats, and she smiles, eyes shining as she nods, her hand on his shoulder and her feet falling into step.

They dance at Halamshiral, and Varric feels the lingering touch of her hands all the way to the coast.


	27. letter set 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra: My darling Viscount (is that as fun to read as it is to write?)  
> Varric: My darling Cassandra, writer of wonderful titles – It sounds a lot more fun from your hand than when Bran writes it, trust me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so entrenched in this story, even _I_ get thrown off when things are happy. Enjoy the letters, we enjoyed writing them. -w.l.

[ _written on a scrap of parchment and pressed into Cassandra’s hand_ ]

                i love you, i will always love you, no matter how near or far

                                be safe, be well

                                                                be amazing

                                -- your Varric

 

 

My love, you are on your way home, and I am still in Orlais. There is much work to do, and I will be here at the Winter Palace for some weeks until we depart for Val Royeaux. In time I will meet my fellow Seekers, but until then I serve on the Exalted Council.

It is not what I would like to do, but I will continue to act as I should. Most Holy was kind to ask and not demand, but we both know refusing was not an option. I am at peace with it.

But I miss you. Already, I wonder when I will see you again. Perhaps this time, I will not forget my name-day. I have not forgotten your promise to me.

Tell me, does your city fair well? I am in a position to acquire more resources and aid. If there is something you desire, tell me. I will do my best to make sure it is given to you. Did I tell you? Your seneschal, Bran - he gave me a rather emotional hug before you left without explaining himself.

A strange young man.

I wonder, sometimes, if it was a mistake to make love as we did, but I know I would not change anything about our days together. I love you. Still, I do. I will come to you as soon as I am able. The memories of Halamshiral will stay with me until we might make new ones.

Stay well, my love. Be happy.

 

 

Cassandra, my heart --

                Has anyone ever refused a Divine request? Is that legal? Still, that you have yet more weight on your shoulders worries me - I know you’re prepared to shape the world, but you shouldn’t be expected to do it single-handedly. What exactly will you be doing on the council? Or is that super secret Chantry business?

                Still, I suppose you have something new to read if the meetings are boring. Let me know what you think of the book, will you? My publisher’s sending copies out next week, but we all know my favourite reviewer’s opinion is the one I’m longing to hear. That’s you, by the way.

                I am currently travelling through the Planasene Forest - rumour has it that a Dalish clan is in the area, and the nobles would pay good money for the chance to trade. Normally I guess I’d send someone else to do this, but we were on the way and it seemed like a good idea. Of course, I’m camped outside, and you know how I feel about nature and suchlike, so “good idea” is a strong turn of phrase.

                I asked Bran about you. He turned a strange colour and didn’t say a word. Fuck if I know what’s up with him, Seeker. Maybe he’s got a crush.

                Can’t blame him, after all.

                I don’t think there was any force on this earth that could have kept me from you when I saw you were there. And maybe we should have waited, but… shit, I don’t regret it one bit. Just the thought of you on top of me, crying out my name -

                That will keep me warm at night for a very long time, Cassandra.

                You were, as ever, a wonderful dance partner. I look forward to the next one.

                Yours, under the stars,  
                -- Varric

 

 

My work with the council is more of a bore than a secret. Simply overseeing the Inquisition's actions and relationship with the Divine is hardly a task meant for more than a handful of bodies. We bicker and debate policy and action, but ultimately we have accomplished little. There is talk of sending troops after Solas, but we've no idea where he's gone. The Inquisitor is tracking him. So we shall see.

Is it strange that I do not fear another war? I wonder if the reason is you, but I can't be sure. I simply do not think the world might end all over again. Perhaps it is naive, perhaps I am simply still exhausted from the previous war - but I hardly care. I will hold on to my optimism. I do not care for the defeatists I am forced to work with. They are tiring.

I have sent word to Seeker Moira. We are planning the settle, soon, perhaps here in Orlais. I cannot say much more for now, but you will know where I am, always.

Last night I thought of our last moments together. Your tunic is quite comfortable. Both of them, actually. Even after a washing, they smell of old books. They smell of you, if I might be so strange. It is comforting.

Do you know that your friend, the pirate Isabela - she has written to me? I received the note not long after you left, inquiring about your wellbeing. I gave as few details as possible, but I may have given her just a bit of canon fodder, and for that I apologize. In a way. I am certain she will enjoy herself.

I wonder if I can ask Most Holy to invent business in Kirkwall. I should like to test the sturdiness of your incredibly large desk in the Viscount's office. The pirate says it's quite a thing to behold.

 

 

Cassandra, conspirator and sneaky Seeker --

                I dread to think what you and Rivaini are talking about. Clearly her pirate ways are already rubbing off on you, seeing as I didn’t even realise that you stole TWO of my shirts. Not that I mind in the slightest - actually, the idea of you in my clothes is quite the tonic for a flagging spirit - but you are becoming quite the sly one. I’ll have to keep a close eye on you.

                She only mentioned the desk because I told her about some of Buttercup’s pranks - fool that I am - and now she’s determined to catch me out somehow. Bran’s been checking it daily since she landed at the docks. It’s been nice to have her around, but listening to her read aloud parts of the new book in ever-increasingly-terrible voices is getting a little grating.

                Am I getting more mature? Finally? Disgusting.

                Daisy passes on her regards - I think she was half-expecting you to come back with me, but I told her about some of the shit that went on and she understands. She’s dying to meet you. Although I, ah… I left out the parts about Solas, for now. It’s not the right time. She’s under a lot of pressure from her community now that a clan is in the Marches.

                I’m terrified at the idea of another war. I’ve seen what the Qunari are capable of, first-hand, on far too many occasions. Did I ever tell you about Seheron and King Alistair? That was a mess. Taught me a very important lesson about the Qunari and what happened in Kirkwall.

                We ain’t seen nothing yet, Seeker.

                Still, that you can be optimistic gives me hope, which in turns gives Kirkwall hope, and that’s important in days like these. The reconstruction work is going well, and the first of the harvest has gone to market - Ostwick’s offering fair prices, but that could change overnight, so all we can do is ensure the product is of a good enough quality by the time it gets there. Every farm has patrols, and guards on the roads.

                If you’d told me two years ago that I’d be paranoid about crop sabotage, I’d have laughed my damned ass off. And yet here we are.

                I hope the Council can manage to agree on something, at least.

                Yours, longingly,

                -- Varric

 

Cassandra, light of my life --

                Rivaini is looking unbearably smug. I blame you.

                Yours, sulkingly,

                -- Varric

 

 

My darling Viscount (is that as fun to read as it is to write?), I am glad that things continue to go well for you. I wish I could say the same for my own work, but I will get to that. If my correspondence with Isabela disturbs you, I have been told to tell you to shove off, though that is hardly how I myself feel. I have revealed no more details about our relationship, if it makes you feel better, but speaking with your friend tells me a great deal about you as well, my love.

How loyal you are, how determined and stubborn. I wish I could have known you before all of this, sometimes. I wish I had come to Kirkwall and met you apart from my duties. I do not know if things would have turned out the same, but the idea intrigues me. I shouldn’t think on it too much, though. It makes me miss you all the more.

Please do not frighten Merrill, but do not think you must protect her, either. I know a bit about being treated as a fragile thing. You know her better than I, but I suspect she is a great deal stronger than you have always believed. Being the woman who built her people up in such a hard city from nothing - that counts for something, Varric. You know better than I what that means.

If your crops require more watchful eyes, I am certain several of Most Holy’s agents could be dispatched. I will see about sending a handful to Kirkwall. We both know that one of her people is worth a dozen soldiers.

As far as the council goes - it is hardly as interesting as your work. Josephine serves as the Inquisition’s Ambassador to the council, still, and is sometimes a saving grace. Other times, I wish for complete and total solitude. I will be leaving at the end of the week for the Hunterhorn Mountains, only for a few days. Moira and I have settled on a place to begin our work. I cannot say what we will do, in time, because I still do not know. There is so much work to do, so much to debate and discuss. We must choose a Lord or Lady Seeker, in time. We must decide what to do about the Rite of Tranquility. We must decide where our allegiances lie.

I have always been used to make choices, but these - I do not know what to do, Varric. My heart is a twisted mess. I think about you, and the Council. I think about my Order, my family. There are so many thoughts I have. The one I understand the most is that I love you, and I am doing what I can to make my way to you.

I have so much work to do this morning, but before I go - do you know where Cole has gone? I promised to write him, but he left before I could say a true goodbye.

 

 

My darling Cassandra, writer of wonderful titles --

                It sounds a lot more fun from your hand than when Bran writes it, trust me.

                I know I have a bad habit of being a little… overprotective, especially when it comes to Daisy. But this isn’t just normal levels of bad news, this is ‘your entire life has been a lie’ news. I know she has a right to know. I will tell her, I will. Just… I wish I didn’t have to.

                Ah, Seeker, if you’d met me then and things had been different… well, I can’t say I’d be the upstanding man I am today. I was loyal, true, and definitely stubborn. But I wasn’t the man you fell in love with. You’ve made me better in so many ways, through action or circumstance, and the Varric Tethras that once was? He would have made a terrible Viscount, and an even worse lover.

                Still, he’s not completely gone. He’s just better now.

                Ruffles can be wonderful, but her passion for her work is a little exhausting. I forgot that until Halamshiral, when she had me running ragged. Though I didn’t envy her one bit. Does she ever take a day off? Still, I’m glad you’re not alone so much these days. It’s easy to be complacent when I’m surrounded by people like Daisy and Rivaini and - never tell him I said this - even Bran, but then I think about you out there on the road all those months… it breaks my heart.

                I don’t want to bother Most Holy Nightingale with such a trivial matter. Besides, I have my own people, people who need the money. And we’re doing okay - no major incidents as of yet, and Ostwick’s prices are still good. Things are --

                No. No, I’m not gonna say it, that just invites disaster.

                The Hunterhorn Mountains? Stay warm. And I mean it this time! If I get another delirious pneumonia-addled letter, I’m going to come over there myself to tell you off. Funnily enough, for a woman who can’t be trusted with her own health, I’m not so worried about the Seeker Order - you’ll help shape them into what they ought to be. You’d make a hell of a Lady Seeker, if that’s what it took. And if that means we have to wait a little longer… well, a few more letters isn’t so bad.

                I’ve got faith in you, Cassandra. You’ll do them proud.

                I haven’t heard from the Kid since I left Halamshiral, but have you tried his girl? I doubt they’ll be too far apart.

                Yours, enviously,

                -- Varric

 

 

My stubborn heart, the Hunterhorn Mountains are rather green this time of year. Chilly in the morning, but completely habitable. We’ve begun construction on barracks and training grounds. The stores are growing, and we get new recruits weekly. We are more than thirty strong, now, but that seems to have tapered off since my arrival. It is hardly important, for now. So much work is still needed to make things as they were - but I do not believe that can ever truly go back. Nor do I believe they should.

I am doing a much better job at taking care of myself, and I should hope you would do the same. Do not overwork yourself, love, and keep your friends in mind. Tell Daisy in your own time, and thank Bran when the moment arises. He is a good man, and he cares for you and your city. Perhaps if a certain Viscount did not hand out a certain key to the city so often, he would be a bit more tolerable.

And if you will not say it, then I will, for us both - things are _good_ , my love. Things are going to be alright. Things are going to work out, and we will be happy. I am glad not to be traveling so much, and having a place to return to at Val Royeuax is a blessing. My room is lovely, and it has that beloved mirror we discussed. Countess enjoys the place, and Madame is glad to have a rest longer than a few days.

Perhaps I should send you a delirious letter anyway, to carry you to my side. Oh, but I would never do such a thing. I would never take you from your work or duty for my own selfishness. Maker take me for even thinking such a thing. It is only because I miss you, but you know that, I so I will not beat it to death. I am proud of us both, my love. I am proud that we are able to do what we must and still love one another.

It is a feat, in times such as these. I leave the mountains again in two days, but I fear we are no closer to having solutions to our problems than when I first arrived. However, it matters not. There will be time, and I will be patient. I have, after all, had great practice.

And I did manage to find out where Maryden and Cole are, and hope to have a letter from him soon. I asked him to write to you, and ease your heart and mind.

 

 

Cassandra, mountain warrior --

                You know I’d come running if you asked. For any reason, no matter how trivial. Need a shelf putting up? I’m there - though, fair warning, it’s gonna be a low shelf. But that’s not you. You put everything else before yourself, and I love that about you. Even if it makes missing you even harder.

                ~~I can’t believe you have that mirror.~~ Scrap that, I can fully believe that Nightingale gave you that mirror. I’m glad you have a home of sorts, though. Everyone needs somewhere to rest. I myself have just been shoved unceremoniously into a small townhouse of my own, after my - to quote Bran - “unwise choices” regarding the grandest estate Kirkwall currently had to offer. But in my defence, the Inquisitor’s earned it. There’ll be other houses, down the line.

                And I didn’t know about the docks! I thought the whole ‘key’ thing was just ceremonial! Bran’s locked it away now anyway. And I did apologise. Twice!

                I look forward to hearing from the Kid soon - I should have spent more time with him, but there was barely a moment where you two weren’t… away. I missed him. Seems happy enough, though, and that’s the main thing.

                Your Seeker stronghold sounds like it’s coming along nicely - though, word to the wise, barracks before anything else. People need to sleep before you drive them into the ground with training. Not that I’m telling you how to run your super secret Seeker town, but… well, I have a little experience in that area now.

                Ha! Always wanted to sound smug via a letter. I’m kidding, you’ll do great.

                In other news, Rivaini is on the ocean again, but as one friend leaves another reappears - Broody turned up just to see me in the crown, laughed (actually laughed!) and then went to find somewhere to stay. Hopefully I’ll have a chance to catch up with him this week, and then I’ll tell you all about the magical adventures of the Broodiest Elf.

                Yours, caught between meetings,

                -- Varric

 

 

My diligent love, I have returned to Val Royeaux and am in a bitter feud with the Ambassador from Ferelden. Dorian has advised me not to confront him head on, but the man is a fool and I am certain that he will do nothing but tear things down. How could he even think of putting the Inquisitor on trial? He wants to take back the keep in Crestwood, and that is fine, we will allow it. But we stole nothing. We have evacuated the troops from that area. We were good to those people. We took care of things because we needed to.

I am so angry. And there is nothing to stab.

Oh, but I do have the mirror, and I love it. Damn the rules, when I leave here for good I am taking it with me. Leliana will not notice, and the Chantry can come to Kirkwall and take it from my hands if they so choose.

I wish I could see you in a crown. I think that might be a sight. Perhaps you in the crown and only the crown?

You see the things you do to me, my love? You make me a fool. A happy one, but a fool all the same. I wouldn’t change that for the world.

I tire of the Ambassador from Orlais as well. He is a relentless flirt, and if he is not attempting to woo Josephine, he is attempting to placate my frustrations with wine. It would make you feel better to know that Countess has relieved herself on his shoulders multiple times. But he has a very stubborn will.

I look forward to knowing how your talks with Fenris go. I’m sure he’ll enjoy teasing you for quite some time.

 

 

Cassandra, ambassador of my heart --

                ~~You tell that Orlesian ponce he’s dangerously close to insulting Marcher pride~~

                ~~Not that you’re MINE it’s not that but~~

                I’m very good at stern letters. Can I send him one?

                As for the Fereldan ambassador, he’s an arse. After everything the Inquisition did to protect his country - after every last bloody bandit and red templar and Venatori mage we took care of? He should be worshipping the ground the Inquisitor walks on. Let me send word to Alistair, see if I can get his idiot uncle to back down. He owes me a favour or three.

                For you? I’d wear the crown and not a stitch else. On my throne, if you like. You might be a fool, but I’m an idiot for you. I love you.

                Broody’s been busy! I caught up with him and for once he wasn’t a sardonic dry asshole. Apparently I’ve changed enough that he can tolerate my wit. We spoke for hours about his war against Tevinter - he’s on strict instructions to let Sparkler be, though he knows of House Pavus and has little love for the name. I assured him that our Pavus was one of the good guys. Still, slavery isn’t just restricted to the North, and he’s on his way to Orlais to follow up a lead given to him by a Jenny of all people. Probably not Buttercup, but it’s a nice thought all the same.

                He was very interested to hear about you, of course. Everyone is. I kept it light, but I think he knows how much you mean to me. He’s strangely perceptive of that shit. Anyway, if you hear stories of a phantom elf tearing out hearts in the capital, tell him I said hello.

                Speaking of busy, I never realised just how many meetings I’d be stuck in. I’ve got official city business, I’ve got guild affairs to handle, my publisher’s in town and wants to talk numbers and future books… it’s a wonder I’ve got time to write this at all.

                Kidding. I’ll always find time to write to you. How else will you hear all my thrilling bureaucratic adventures?

                Yours, rushed off his proverbial feet,

                -- Varric

 

 

My teasing love, you spoil me with such thoughts. If I could only get away to spend a moment with you, I would have you make good on such promises. But until then, I see you in my dreams.

If you said anything to the King, we do appreciate it. The Ferelden has backed down, for now, but he continues to have quite the opinion on how we should surrender Inquisition forces. Cullen has been staying with us, and we have enjoyed many a discussion regarding the matter, but he is reluctant to let go. He isn’t ready, he doesn’t think Thedas is ready, but the Inquisitor insists. And, so, we will do as we are asked.

I would not expect Fenris to be convinced of Dorian’s hospitality right away, but it is good that you are trying. Should too many hearts be torn from their chests, I will be sure to pass on my concern, but I suspect it would have no effect on him. Nonetheless, I am glad you are talking to your friends about me. I look forward to meeting them. I suppose if I had any of my own who were not Most Holy or Josephine - or even Cullen, I suppose - I would talk about you as well.

We both owe Dorian a great debt. It would be preferable for his too-large heart to stay in his chest.

I enjoy hearing about all your adventures, my love. Every last one.

(And I read that first and second line perfectly well, Varric. I can manage a handsy ponce. And of course you must always remember - I am yours. I belong with you. In any way I can.)


	28. interlude: bianca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Time was, I’d point out how little you were doing for the world, and then we’d laugh it off with a glass or two of brandy. Guess I can’t say that anymore.” Her smile softens. “Your city looks good, Varric.”
> 
> He sighs, letting the anger go. “Yeah, it’s… a work in progress, but it’ll get there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My interpretation of the Varric-Bianca dynamic throughout has actually a little _off_ from how I consider them, but I think it worked better for this story. ANYWAY HERE'S A THING.
> 
> Oh also my esteemed frond weathered informed me that it's been a month since we started this crazy ride???  
> You guys really are gluttons for punishment, eh?  
> Thanks for sticking with us. We hope you're enjoying it as much as we are <3
> 
> \-- v.

He was not prepared for this.

A meeting with a representative of the Orlesian branch of the Dwarven Merchant’s Guild, he was told. A representative running for head, who wished for the Free Marches’ support. A representative who, he now found out, had sent his wife in his stead.

“Hello, Varric.”

He closes his eyes. _Bianca_.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, _I_ have a meeting with Viscount Tethras.” She leans against the door, smiling that wry smirk that niggled at his heart. “Heard he’s a hell of a guy.”

“You’re not funny. Where’s Bogdan?”

“He’s delivering a gift to the local smiths - better tools than they’ve been working with. We thought you might need them.”

He grunts, shrugging. “We’ve done alright with them before now.”

“You’re welcome,” she drawls.

“That is just typical of you,” he growls, throwing himself into his chair and easing the crown from his hair. “You think you can just _waltz_ in and fix things and expect the rest of the world to be _grateful_ -”

She straightens, closing the door behind her. “Time was, I’d point out how little you were doing for the world, and then we’d laugh it off with a glass or two of brandy. Guess I can’t say that anymore.” Her smile softens. “Your city looks good, Varric.”

He sighs, letting the anger go. “Yeah, it’s… a work in progress, but it’ll get there.”

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” She saunters around the desk. “To be able to talk. Properly, I mean. Like two people who don’t have anything to hide.”

“We don’t _have_ anything to hide,” he points out. “Not anymore.”

“ _Varric_ -”

He takes in a deep breath, looking up at her.

It would be so _easy_ , he realises. It would be so easy to take her into his arms, to smile and throw out a line as she laughs and unbuttons his shirt. It would be so easy to fall back into those habits. Once upon a time, he would have done it without thinking. He would have reasoned away any guilt he might have felt, would have three excuses lined up and ready to go. Cassandra would never have known, and he would have felt a lot less lonely.

Maker, he is _so_ lonely.

“I told you we were done.”

“I missed you,” she says softly, reaching to cup his cheek, but he pushes her hand away.

“You missed having someone to fall back on.” He pushes back from the desk. “But I’m not that guy, Bianca. Not anymore.”

“Varric -”

“No. I’m not - I’m not that guy. I’m Viscount of Kirkwall, I’ve rebuilt this city from the ground up, I am a better man than I _ever_ thought I could be… and I’m not going to take a step backwards. Not for you, not for _anyone_. I owe myself better than that.”

She blinks, before stepping back. “Where is all of this coming from? This isn’t _you_ , Varric -”

“Yes, it is.” He rises, regarding her for a long moment. “It _is_ me. More me than I have been in decades. Now, if you want to arrange a meeting with Bogdan for me, that’s fine. I know he’s a good man, and he’ll be good for the Orlesian Guild. I’ll vouch for him with our lot. But I won’t deal through _you_.”

She stares at him for a long moment, before straightening, her mouth a thin line. She is angry - good, he thinks. Let her be angry. Let her be _changed_.

“You’re…” She considers her words, before shaking her head. “She better be worth burning your bridges, whoever she is.”

“I _am_ worth burning this bridge,” he corrects. “I’m doing this because I deserve better than to be second best. I was happy to be, for a very long time, but… you never loved me the way you love him.” He smiles slightly. “You love your husband, Bianca. It’s _long_ past time you embraced that fact.”

“But I love -”

“Then let me go. Let the idea go. What we had before was fine, _then_. Now? That’s not me. That’s not _us_. Let the past be the past.”

She shoots him a look. “Says the storyteller.”

“I’ll admit the irony’s not lost on me, but I kept your story quiet all this time, didn’t I?”

“I suppose you did.”

“Time for a new one. One without me. You always said you wanted kids.”

Her eyes glitter for a moment, before she pulls back, turning away. “You look stupid in that crown,” she says finally. “I’ll tell Bogdan to talk to your seneschal.” And she pushes open the door, feet taking her far away from his office.

He lets out a long sigh, picking up the crown. “Well, _she_ likes it,” he murmurs softly. “Can’t look _that_ bad…”

 

* * *

 

He sulks for a while, feet propped up on his desk and his lover’s letters in his hands. What he would not give to talk to her… but she was far away and probably busy with a hundred more important things than his spiralling self-pity.

Yes, he had finally emerged from the shadows of his doubts. Yes, he had stood up to a negative force in his old life. Hell, he had even accepted that she was part of his old life, that he was finally and completely a new man who was better than all of that. But he still felt like shit, somehow.

_Cassandra would be proud_ , a small voice in his head points out.

And that, somehow, is enough for him to drag his feet off the desk and reach for quill and parchment.

“Bran!”

The seneschal sticks his head through the door cautiously. “Yes?”

“You needed my signature on the Summersday feast permits, right?”

“... yes, but you said you wouldn’t -”

“Bring ‘em in here. I’ll do them before my next meeting.” He smiles. “And can you find the Countess for me? I need her, but... well, she likes you a little better.”

He has a letter to write.


	29. letter set 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric: At least you’re safe and healthy and happy. You are happy, right?  
> Cassandra: Be safe, and know that I could only be made happier by the sight of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's getting awfully calm around here, isn't it?

Cassandra, my dearest, my only --

                You know how I hate it when the world pulls the rug out from under me? You know how I really hate it when the world sees fit to throw me under the cart for a day?

                Bianca showed up.

                Her husband is in contention for head of the Guild in Orlais, and he needs support - good support, the kind of support that means something. And whilst I’m not head of our Guild, my word apparently is good enough on account of me being an excellent negotiator and general upstanding deshyr. I should have realised something was up when her father asked me to take care of it on his behalf - he’s never asked me for anything before. The man hates me!

                And yet he asked me to talk to his son-in-law about supporting his claim. Shit, maybe I dropped the ball on this one… I didn’t even ask who I was supposed to be meeting. I’ve met with seventeen different nobles this week already.

                Anyway, Bogdan sends his wife in his stead. Who happens to be Bianca - who, you might recall, I already told I didn’t want anything to do with, given her monumental fuck-up with that thaig a few years back.

                Apparently that’s all water under the bridge now. Funny, nobody told me - or the thousands of lives she helped ruin. I was so angry, Seeker! How dare she come into my city, my home, and expect things to be like they were before! Again! She thinks she can just… swan around with that look on her face like she’s never even heard of the word ‘sin’ and get away with anything...

                Do you remember what I told you, a few weeks ago? About the man I used to be? He wouldn’t have cared. He wouldn’t have hesitated to fall back into the dark. But that’s not who I am anymore. I’ve felt the light on my face. I’ve done good things, for once. I’m better. I’m more. And you helped me do that. So I laid it out, in black and white.

                She didn’t like that at all. Might be the first time in decades that I’ve put my foot down with her, in truth, but apparently I am very good at it. She left, and I made it clear that I don’t want her coming back again. I’m done pretending that being second best is good enough. I deserve better - and the world deserves better from me.

                You deserve my best. Always said it, and now I’m ready to give that to you.

                Thank you.

                Yours, always,  
                -- Varric.

 

[ _enclosed_ ]

i was stone before you;  
stone in deed and bond  
dedicated to old ideas  
worn down by time  
and words  
and heart

today  
i breathe.

 

 

My love, how nice for you, that you should be able to be so brave and so bold and overcome such an obstacle. Truly, a feat of dwarven mental ingenuity.

We can only hope things continue on this path, can we not?

 

 

Cassandra, humbler of men --

                Okay, so maybe I’ve still got a long way to go before I can call myself a good man. Sorry. Still, I mean it when I say you’ve changed me for the better. You’re a hell of a role-model, Seeker, and you keep me in check when I need it the most. Thank you, really.

                I finally heard from the Kid - nice to hear he’s doing okay, even if it took me a while to decipher his handwriting. I always meant to teach him to write better, but there was never any time. Apparently Maryden’s making her way through Ferelden, telling grand tales of the Inquisition and the heroes of the war, and Cole’s helping as best he can. They make quite the team, it seems. Told him to stop by any time he was in the area, and that if he needed anything, he should let me know.

                Not that he will, of course, but the thought’s there.

                Are you still in Val Royeaux? A little birdy tells me that Curly’s moved back to Skyhold - I keep meaning to write to him about some of the former templars still in Kirkwall, figured he might have some good advice. But there’s always another problem to deal with - this week it’s the question of Darktown and the Coterie. Before the war I always kept them off the Guild’s back, but now I’m… not exactly the kind of man they want to associate with. And Darktown’s always been something of a blight on the city, but there’s people down there with nowhere else to go. I can’t tear it up for the sake of it, not unless I want to start another war.

                Ugh. Something to think about whilst I make plans for the feast. Did I tell you about the Summersday feast? Whole city of food, to celebrate being alive. You’re invited, obviously, but I know you’re probably busy dining with Most Holy on such an auspicious day.

                Wonder if she eats the same sort of food as us, these days…

                Yours, hungrily,  
                -- Varric.

 

 

My most forgiving heart, I regret the brevity of my previous letter. I was a fool to be angry, and I will be honest with you - I was.

I could not lie to you and tell you that I sometimes wonder about Bianca. You must believe me when I saw that I know you are a changed man, as much as I am a changed woman - and because of you. But, can you fault me for carrying some questions in my heart? A love like that, one that attempted to burn for so long - how can I not wonder what might have been, what could be between you?

Please, forgive a wretched, doubting heart such as mine. I love you, and I know that you love me. But, still. It lives there. I cannot allow it to grow, and so I won’t. I’ll starve the doubt, and nurture the sweetness in me, placed there by you.

Dorian thought I was much too harsh. He is too often right in these matters.

(I do expect you to be a good man, though. Know that, always. Why should you not be? I am glad for you, but my love, be practical - do you think I couldn’t find out if you were gallivanting about Kirkwall with an old flame? I do still have the Inquisition’s spymaster by my side. And I very much doubt your seneschal can keep a secret.)

I wish we could join you for Summersday, but there is still a great deal of work to be done, and Most Holy will be hosting a feast of her own. Another moment that will come and go, but, still - it will be good to know your city flourishes.

If you wondered, Most Holy enjoys sweets on occasion, should you be tempted to send something her way in case you ever need a favor. However, the quickest way to her heart is through shoes. She does adore shoes.

Send my good thoughts to Bran - I am sure you are a singularly difficult man to work with at times, and a saving grace at others.

I love you, and I will think of you on Summersday.

 

 

Cassandra, the only fire in my heart --

                I get it, I do. As a man who’s made a lot of mistakes and harboured every doubt going, I get it. But I promise you, unreservedly, my heart burns only for you.

                And I’m not just saying that because you have Divine Spies.

                If I ever need a favour from Most Holy Nightingale, shoes are not going to be top of that list. What do I know about shoes, Seeker? Next to nothing! Well, that’s not true - I know cheap shoes aren’t going to keep you alive through the mountain pass, and I know that if you knock three times on the hatch at the cobbler’s in Lowtown you’ll be rewarded with some very suspicious mushrooms. Neither of these facts are particularly helpful when shoe-shopping for the second-most important woman in the world.

                In case you hadn’t guessed, you’re the most important.

                Still, I’ll bear that in mind. I’m hopeful she can spare the time to consecrate our Chantry when it’s finished, but there’s been a few setbacks with the roof tiles and the artists can’t start on the interior until it stops raining.

                It’s been raining for two weeks.

                I hate the rain, Seeker. I hate the rain more than I hate any other weather. It’s ground all progress in the city to a halt, and everyone’s looking to me as if I can stop the fucking water from falling from the sky altogether. The only people happy right now are the farmers, because obviously this is the greatest thing to happen to crops since manure was invented.

                I hate the rain.

                Oh, Bran passes on his regards - I think. When I told him you’d thought of him, he went a funny colour and rushed out of the room, and I can hear him giggling down the corridor. What exactly is going on there? I’d suggest you write directly to him, but I worry that’ll send him into spasms. I’ll let you know if I ever get to the bottom of that particular mystery.

                Yours, confusedly,  
                -- Varric

P.S: Wait, Sparkler’s with you?

 

 

My love, waterlogged and miserable - enjoy the rain. Remember the sun shines its brightest after a storm. Most Holy is hardly in need of shoes, but I did mention the consecration of your Chantry, and she did wonder if I might be willing to accompany her.

So I suppose if the rain is what prevents its completion, then damn the rain. Or not - crops are important, that is what I keep telling myself. Maker, I never thought I would think such things.

I can hardly make up my mind about it.

Dorian is not with me, but I did write to him for advice. I thought myself too harsh, and he agreed. Unfortunately, he now considers himself an expert in our relationship, so if he sends you any letters in regards to my behavior, or yours, ignore them. Perhaps send him a rather ugly pair of pants. That would shut him up rather quickly.

I have no idea why your Bran is so...odd around me. Perhaps you do not appreciate him enough. I’m sure he’s had quite a time of it.

I’ve sent along some tea with the Countess, in hopes you’ll forgive me for my brevity these past few letters. I never seem to lack for something I simply must do, when there are a dozen things I would rather do.

 

 

Cassandra, bright hope --

                As much as I am glad of the crops… I really, really hate the rain.

                I’m glad to hear you might be able to make it to the city soon. So unbelievably glad, I --

[ _in a rushed hand_ ]

_BRAN IS GIGGLING AGAIN WHY IS HE GIGGLING HE IS A GROWN MAN_

[ _in a neater hand_ ]

                I’ve solved the mystery. Took Bran out for a few drinks to loosen his tongue, but apparently I am much easier to work with after a letter from you. On the one hand, it’s hilarious. On the other hand… well, he may have a point. I’ll try to be a little more bearable the rest of the time. Wouldn’t shut up about the great ‘Lady Cassandra’. That, fortunately, is my favourite topic of conversation.

                I love you quite a lot, you know. Turns out everyone else knows it, too.

                The tea is a welcome respite from the rain, which does seem to be somewhat lessened. The roads are less waterlogged, which means we can start again on the new slabs. Just need a dry day to let the puddles drain off and then the roads in and out of Kirkwall will be a lot smoother.

                Hopefully a sign of things to come.

                Sparkler has yet to grace me with his advice, but I don’t doubt it will be forthcoming when he has the time to spare. I know things are becoming rapidly less stable in the Imperium - Maevaris wrote to me a few weeks back about some skirmishes on the coast.

                Whole damned world’s busy, these days. At least you’re safe and healthy and happy. You are happy, right?

                Yours, still damp,  
                -- Varric

 

 

[ _a letter, stained with mud_ ]

You have a loose tongue about me always, my love. I am not surprised nearly everyone you meet is aware of me to some degree.

Your rain must have made its way to the mountains. We have been cleaning out much from the partially completed barracks in the Hunterhorns for two days. I am completely covered, and I do not think I will ever get the mud from my hair. It will take days to feel clean again. I will be leaving as soon as the clean-up project ends, and returning to my warm rooms in Val Royeaux.

I admit I feel...guilty. Here I am, one day, cleaning alongside my fellow Seekers. And then another, I am enjoying wine with Most Holy and discussing politics and mage rights. The contrast between one life and another - can I maintain such a dichotomy? Is it right? I question my loyalty to both sides, constantly. I wonder if I am doing what I should. I wonder so much.

You are the one thing I do not question.

Bran does not read your letters, does he? I should hope not.

Last night I remembered our final morning together here at the palace. That first time, the way you held me, the way you looked at me, so desperate for your own release, so in love. How could I ever doubt you, when I think of that time? Oh, the way you said my name - it is enough to make me lose all my senses when I think of it.

I will do so again tonight, my love. I will think of you.

Unfortunately I am still covered in mud. A proper time with myself and my thoughts will have to wait.

Stay dry, stay well. Be safe, and know that I could only be made happier by the sight of you.

 

 

Cassandra, my mud queen --

                What can I say? I’m utterly in love with an amazing woman. I brag a little.

                You won’t always have to split your time. But you talk about it as if one is more relaxing than the other - you’re working your ass off trying to do both, don’t forget that when you’re feeling guilty. And it won’t always be that way. There will be a less muddy future for you, I promise.

                Although the idea of you all mucky and in need of a bath… I’m just saying, Seeker, I have a very vivid imagination, and I remember our bath very well.

                Bran doesn’t read any of my mail, thankfully, though the Countess does like to go bother him once I’ve stripped her of her gifts. I think he’s been feeding her whiskey. Sneaky seneschal. Still, she’s happy enough, and she always comes back to me.

                Now all I can think about is you. You in my shirt, you with your hand between your legs, you on your knees above me… fuck, Cassandra, you are incredibly hot. It’s all I can do not to take matters into my own hands right now, but I’m still working - or, at least, I should be. You make it very difficult to get anything done.

                I miss your voice. I miss the way you say my name more than anything.

                But I know you’re putting that voice to good use in the world, making it heard. Have I mentioned recently how proud I am? My Seeker, rebuilding an ancient order and putting ponces to rights in the capital, all without breaking stride. You’re an inspiration, truly.

                I know it must be hard, trying to balance everything, but you’re doing a wonderful job from here.

                Yours, amazed,  
                -- Varric

 

 

I should not feel guilty, but it is hard when I spend one night in the mud, and the next in a bath.

Thinking of you is always a wonderful distraction.

We will be entertaining the College of Mages in the coming week. While I am not always a fan of the former Grand Enchanter, Fiona has become a trusted ally and is quite the accomplished story teller. It will be a strange relief to have her here. I suspect there are ulterior motives to the visit - Vivienne has been loud in her distaste for the College, and I assume she has machinations of her own in the works. I will deal with that, though, when the time comes.

I confess I am glad to be gone from the Hunterhorn Mountains. Seeker Moira is becoming more insistent we choose a leader, and she has hinted several times that I would win if we were to take a vote.

Maker forgive me, but I do not want to win.

To be a Seeker is one thing, to lead them - another entirely. I am certain I could do it, but oh, would I like to? I must continue to think on it. It will be a difficult decision. She is younger than I, Moira - I have fought for so long, I am not sure becoming a Lady Seeker is what I would like. She knows little of my life. I have not spoken to her much of you, or even mentioned your name. It is not a secret, I simply cannot risk having my position removed from me now, of all times, because they think I am weak.

That sounds terrible. You do not weaken me, you give me strength. But the youngers, they do not understand that. And all the Seekers of my time are gone. Emerson would understand. Emerson _did_ understand. Moira is stubborn, same as I was, same as I am - she would not see what we have as a building block, but a storm.

A choice will have to be made soon. Very soon.

You will need to forgive me if the next time you see your ring, I have rubbed it silver.

 

 

Cassandra, strength beyond measure --

                You once said you did not think yourself suited to lead the Inquisition, and even though I thought you were stubborn and brash I couldn’t imagine anyone else I’d follow. Even though the Inquisitor proved me wrong, I see what they see in you. You would make a wonderful Lady Seeker, if that’s what’s in store for you.

                But damn it all, Cassandra, I can’t lie to you. I really hope you don’t win, either. I’m far too selfish to lose you now.

                I’m sure in time they’ll see that the support we give each other is just as valid as anything else in this world, but until then… if you need to stop sending letters from the mountains, I’d understand. And I understand why it has to be this way, I do. They’ll use my very existence against you. As much as it ~~hurts~~ stings a little, I’m happier knowing you’re not being undermined by the very people who need you.

                Though, for the record, they’re idiots.

                Whatever happens, whatever you do, I will support you. Always. And I am so proud.

                The Iron Lady is never without a plan. I can’t say I’d be surprised if she had a trick or three up her well-fitted sleeves, but I doubt Fiona’s going to be caught unawares - mind like a steel trap, that one. I never did get to hear her stories though. Think I could learn a few tips? I haven’t had a good audience in a while.

                Yours, always yours,  
                -- Varric


	30. interlude: poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are not allowed to leave me,” she whispers. “You are not allowed to die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like you knew this was coming.
> 
> -w.l.

Cassandra returns to her quarters late that evening, her mind aching with the exhaustion of debate. This council will be the death of her, if another trip to the Hunterhorns does not kill her first. She sits down at her desk to respond to her business letters first – an inquiry from Lady Vivienne, a letter from the Commander, and a lovely note from the Inquisitor, who is continuing to seal rifts throughout Thedas. Varric’s most recent letter sits in its usual place, and she will answer it in the morning, when there is more time to think and imagine. She has half a mind to copy a new favorite poem, or perhaps send a servant out in the morning for a book –

And then there is a shattering knock at her door, and a messenger tumbles into her room.

“Lady…Lady Cassandra—” She rushes to the young man quickly and hefts him up. “For you, from Kirkwall. You must…you must ride. Tonight.” The boy collapses in a wretched heap and Cassandra tears open the letter.

_Come at once, there’s been an accident. He is alive, but only just. We have the situation under control, but you should be here. – Isabela_

Cassandra grips the letter in her hand and _runs._

 

 

* * *

 

 

She rides.

She pushes her horse as hard and fast as she can manage. There is no time to tell Leliana, or Josephine. She will deal with them when she knows more. There are more miles between she and Varric than she cares to think on, but all she knows is that she cannot stop – not until she is closer. Not until she knows she will make it.

Nearly two days of riding brings Cassandra to Cumberland, before the Planasene Forest, and she rests for one night, for a handful of hours. In the morning she is gone again, and it is nightfall when she reaches Kirkwall.

The guard sees the sigil on her chest and lets her ride through the gates – but she could not have been stopped. She slows her horse only when she hears a voice, calling her name.

“ _Seeker Pentaghast!_ ” Cassandra turns, and the pirate stands before her, a hand on either hip, chin tipped up and out.  “Bran said you’d make it by now. Follow.” Cassandra does, without a word. Isabela is quick, and takes Madame’s reigns when they finally stop outside the Viscount’s Keep. She practically leaps from the horse and rushes up the stairs, shouldering past the guards. Someone grabs her arm and yanks her when she is going in the wrong direction – and Cassandra realizes it is Aveline.

“He’s here. Straight through there.”

“Thank you, I—”

“Just go.”

Aveline pushes her and Cassandra stumbles into the room. It is dimly lit, and there is a distinct crying noise coming from the center of the room. Her eyes adjust, and Cassandra sees Merrill, sitting next to a bed, her hands clasped around Varric’s own.

He is frighteningly still.

“Oh!” Merrill turns and stands, and suddenly Cassandra is in her arms. “Oh it _is_ you. Isabela said you’d come, Bran promised, too, but I—” She turns to Varric and her lip quivers. “Fool of a man.”

“Yes.” Cassandra falls to her knees by his bed, reaching out to cup his cheek. He is pale, and rigid. Breathing, but only just. A healer is in the corner mixing a poultice. She comes around and pulls back a bandage around his bare chest, revealing a ugly, festering wound. “Poison,” Cassandra breathes.

“The Coterie, we suspect.” Aveline is in the room, now, hand gripping the pommel of her sword tight. “I’ve dispatched guards across the city—”

“And I told _you_ I would handle it.” Isabela comes into the room, now. “A friend—”

“An _assassin_ is hardly a friend. You know I trust your judgment, but I cannot—”

“He will see to it this is taken care of, quicker than your _guards_ —”

“ _Enough!_ ” Merrill puts a hand over her mouth, surprised at her own outburst. “I…I am sorry.”

“Oh, kitten—”

“We should…leave them be. Let them be together.” Merrill looks at Cassandra and smiles. “Just for a bit. Argue somewhere else.”

Aveline nods. “Of course. Forgive us, Seeker Pentaghast.” The three women leave the room, the healer trailing after them. Cassandra is left alone, knelt by Varric’s side, watching the too-slow rise and fall of his chest.

 

 

* * *

 

 

No one but the healer comes into the room the next day. Cassandra washes herself as best she can and settles into a spot on the edge of Varric’s bed. She is exhausted from traveling, and stretches out next to him, reaching up to stroke his forehead.

“You are not allowed to leave me,” she whispers. “You are not allowed to die.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cassandra is only waking up when someone comes into the room, and promptly drops everything.

“M-my lady—” Bran stoops to gather his things from the floor while Cassandra sits up. Varric is breathing, still, but hasn’t moved. “Forgive me, I assumed you had gone to the guest room we prepared, I—”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

He smiles, then frowns, looking over her shoulder. “He’s still not up.”

“How many days has it been?”

“Four. We sent for you as quick as we could—”

“I know,” she says, giving him a smile. Bran ducks his head. “Do you know who Isabela has looking for the attacker?”

“Unfortunately, no. I do know that Captain Vallen is not a fan, per se, but—”

Behind Cassandra, Varric groans and shifts, and Bran drops everything again.

“I’ll get the healer,” he says, and vanishes.

Cassandra kneels on the bed, stooped low to see into his eyes. “Varric?” He mumbles. “Varric, _please._ ” She lifts his hand and kisses his knuckles, finally allowing herself to cry. “Please, my love. Wake. That is all I need. _Wake._ ”

She feels his hand tighten around hers, and hears the rasp of his voice.

“Seeker—” The healer bursts into the room, tossing her things onto a table and handing Cassandra a goblet of water.

“Lift him up, get him to drink.” She does as she’s told, pushing the edge of the cup past his dry lips. He sputters and gags, retches over the side of the bed onto the floor. The healer forces Cassandra off the bed and has her assistant clean up the mess as she tends to the wound. Between waking and sickness, he falls still again, chest rising and falling too sporadically for Cassandra’s comfort. She passes the goblet to Bran as she leaves the room, grabbing her cloak and sword on the way out.

He is dying.

Cassandra has weathered this world long enough to know when that is the truth - and she won’t lie in wait or repose, waiting for someone else to rescue him. He is _hers_. He was the one who saved her when she was suffocating under the strain of her own foolishness. She will not wait to repay the favor.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It takes less time than she thought it might to track down Isabela’s assassin – but she doubts much of that is due to her own cleverness. He is waiting for her at the end of a dark road, teeth shining in the moonlight.

“You are the Seeker?”

“I am.”

“Isabela thought you might want to take care of things yourself. How is he?”

“Dying. How close are you to finding those responsible?”

“Mere minutes,” he says. “It’s taken time, precious time, I am afraid. I began searching immediately, but the members of Kirkwall’s Coterie hide themselves well. And they are willing to die before selling out any of their own.”

Cassandra considers him for a moment before she says quietly, “Do you scavenge, Crow?”

“I have been known to, on occasion.”

“Then you are aware of the hierarchy.”

“Oh, quite.” He tilts his head. “Perhaps we are thinking the same thing?”

She nods. “Where might we find the calves?”

Zevran laughs, full and hearty. “I like you, Seeker Pentaghast. I like you quite a lot.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It takes fifteen minutes at the Blooming Rose to find a Coterie recruit. Zevran had informed her before they arrived that Harlan, the Coterie leader, was part owner of the Rose, but was hardly seen. Even his leadership was something of a question. Cassandra didn’t particularly care. She leaves with the only information she needs - another location, another tip. She moves in the shadows with ease, skills learned from all her years working with Leliana. Zevran is a skilled partner, leading without question, taking her to exactly where she needs to be.

In a little room behind a butcher’s shop, Cassandra finds a group of men playing cards. She is not merciful, and it takes four fingers to extract the location of the antidote. Zevran swoons the entire way there.

“Are you sure your heart is set on the dwarf?”

“Focus.”

“Of course, my lady. I only ask–”

“Here.” She finds the door the poor man told her of. It is locked. She takes a step back, preparing to kick it down – Zevran stops her.

“Allow me.” On one knee, he picks the lock with an expert hand, and they melt into the shadows together. This time, Cassandra is not so kind.

She takes what she wants, and leaves only one alive.

Another lesson from the Left Hand.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re  _back!_ ” Bran has been sitting by Varric’s bedside since Cassandra departed, and it is well past sun-up when she returns.

“Fetch the healer,” she says, breathless, and presses the antidote into his hands.

“Maker’s breath.” Bran looks at her blood soaked clothes, her red palms, dirty fingernails, and doesn’t ask anymore questions. “Of course, Lady Cassandra.” He bolts from the room, and Zevran steps inside.

“A successful venture, my lady”

Cassandra doesn’t respond. She kneels by Varric’s side, brushing the hair from his face with her knuckles, taking his hand and pressing it to her lips. “I have repaid my debt to you, my love.”

She hears Zevran make a noise in sympathy, but when she turns to thank him, he is gone. Probably for the best. The healer comes in and sets about mixing the antidote, ordering Cassandra to wake Varric.

It takes time. It worries her. But he will be well again, she thinks. The debt is repaid, the solution is in her grasp. He blinks sleep from his eyes and looks at her, confused.

“Ca–” He winces, groans. “Cassandra.”

“Here. Drink.”

“No, _no_ , I don’t–”

“It’s the antidote, you dolt.” The healer rolls her eyes and packs up her things again. “Stupid man. Someone explain to _me_ why we keep putting men in charge of this city. Maker knows I don’t get it.”

Cassandra watches carefully as Varric finally drinks from the cup, coughing as it slides down his throat.

“Fucking _terrible_.”

“It is meant to save your life.”

“Did you find this?”

She smiles. “I had help.” Varric nods, choking the rest of it down before trying to push himself out of bed. “ _No._ ” He scowls and opens his mouth to protest. “You will rest, dwarf. Do you understand?”

“Last I checked, you weren’t the viscount.”

“Last I checked, you weren’t breathing,” Bran says, coming into the room to put out a few candles. “I am going back to bed. Please, _try_ not to die.”

Varric groans, falling back onto his pillow as Cassandra pulls the blanket over him.

“You two are _oppressing_ me, you hear that?”

She sighs, bending down to kiss his forehead, before stretching out beside him. “Shut up, Varric. And go to sleep.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning, Varric seems to have taken Cassandra’s advice to heart. He is still sleeping when she extracts herself from the tangle of blankets on his bed and stumbles into the guest room that had been prepared for her. She washes, changes – into clothes she has never seen, she will thank Bran or Varric later – and manages to find herself seated at a long table for breakfast. Merrill joins her.

“I thought you and I might go for a walk today? Varric told me you were interested in my tree.”

Cassandra nearly chokes on her toast. “ _Yes._ I would, I—”

“Good! And we can have tea and stop by the docks. You can meet Isabela’s new ship. Don’t tell Aveline. Aveline never approves.”

“Of course.”

Merrill reaches out and covers Cassandra’s hand with her own. “It is so good to meet you, finally. I do wish the circumstances had been better, yes? Terrible things do not make for good first impressions, but I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you could help him.”

Cassandra flushes, and allows herself to be led for the rest of the day. Her mind is never far from Varric, but there are times when she is in his city – and oh how it is _his_ – and Merrill’s hand is grasped tight in hers and she wonders – could she stay here?

Could she simply…never go back?

“Isn’t it lovely?” Merrill whispers. The tree stands so proud and tall in the alienage. Cassandra stands close, running her hands over the trunk. She remembers a tree like this, it grew in her uncle’s garden. It was the only one of its kind, a grand thing that grew taller than all the others. She would climb it to escape her lessons, or run from Anthony when he would tease her.

The last time she’d seen her uncle’s home, it had been chopped down – he’d put a fountain in its place.

“Lady Cassandra?” Merrill reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Is it too sad? I wondered if it would remind you of home. Varric said you didn’t care for Nevarra.”

Cassandra brushes the tears from under her eyes and shakes her head. “No,” she says. “It’s beautiful. You did a wonderful job.”

Merrill flushes and smiles, clasping Cassandra’s arm in her own.

“I had hoped you would love it. I really did.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When they return to the Keep, Varric is sitting up in bed, and looking rather upset.

“ _You_ tell him,” the healer says. “You tell him that he needs bed rest and _water_. That the wound will _hurt_ for some time.” The healer shoves a few things into Cassandra’s hands as she comes into the room, and throws her own into the air. “ _You tell him._ ”

Cassandra watches her go before setting the things on a table. She turns to him. “What are you doing?”

“I need to get up. I have six hundred things to do.”

“Six hundred and eleven,” Bran says, coming into the room. “I need you to sign a few things, when you’re well.”

“I am _well enough_.”

Bran sighs. “Sir, I don’t mean to overstep—”

“So you’re going to anyway.”

“Yesterday you were close to _death._ I should think a few more days of rest would do you good.” He shakes a few papers. “These will wait, if you’re going to be difficult.”

“Maker’s _balls._ You’re going to _withhold_ work from me? After begging me to do it?”

“I would prefer you live and do it later, sir.” Bran gathers his things again and heads out the door. “Perhaps you might talk some sense into him, Lady Cassandra.” He shuts the door behind him with a flourish, leaving the two alone.

Cassandra sits on the edge of the bed, feeling Varric’s unrest.

“Don’t you start—”

“I won’t,” she says quietly. She moves closer and reaches for his hand. “You are trembling, my love.”

“Side-effect,” he says, as if it is nothing. “It’ll go away.”

“You are pale.”

“Are you not _listening_ , Seeker?”

“Yes. And what I am hearing is a man indisposed by illness who would prefer not to be. The same man who begged me to take care of myself, to rest when I needed it.” She takes his hand in her and lifts it to kiss his knuckles. “You were almost lost to me, Varric. I would prefer you be well.”

He grumbles a bit before pulling her gently into his arms. Cassandra goes willingly, resting her head on his chest.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmurs. His voice shakes.

“I know.”

“It wasn’t…I should have seen it coming. Shouldn’t I?”

Cassandra sits up. “You are asking me whether I expected you to predict an assassin? Varric, be reasonable. I am only glad that Zevran and I were able to find the antidote—”

“Was he flirting with you?”

“He offered me a necklace made of teeth, at one point. And a severed finger.”

Varric chuckles. “He was definitely flirting with you.”

“It was rather charming. I did not tell him that I required novels tailored to my specific interests in order to win my heart.”

“I am pretty charming, aren’t I?”

Cassandra tucks herself against him, closing her eyes. “The most charming man I have ever known.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

A letter arrives from Leliana a week into her stay.

_The seneschal wrote me, he thought I would like to know. Stay as long as you need, Cassandra. And be well. – L_

 

 

* * *

 

 

“These are building contracts for the gardens in Hightown.”

“Later.”

“A few last minute permits for the Summersday festival.”

“I’ll sign ‘em.”

“A get well card from Merrill.”

Varric pauses. “She’s here every day.”

“A group of children from the alienage signed it.” Bran passes it over. “Should I—”

“With the others,” Varric says, a faraway smile on his face. Bran’s expression is similar, and he gathers his things with a nod of his head.

“I’ll take my leave for the day then, sir.”

“Sure, sure. Thank you, Bran.”

“I—” He pauses, looking between Varric and Cassandra, who has observed the exchange in silence. “Of course, sir. It is my pleasure.” He bows and shuts the door behind him.

Varric sighs. “He’s a good guy.”

“Very diligent.”

“He has to be. I’m shit at this administrative stuff.” Varric groans and sits up, glancing at her. “I’ll walk a bit today.”

“Alright.” She helps him out of bed and they take a few slow circles around the room. She knows the minute she leaves he will be a terror to deal with, and likely rush his recovery, but for now, he does as she asks. It strikes Cassandra then that she _does_ intend to leave, and her heart twinges, an old wound resurfacing in the night.

“Seeker?”

“Forgive me, my love.”

He pulls her down and gives her a quick kiss. “Nothing to forgive.” He sighs and stretches. “Come to bed with me?” he asks, and Cassandra nods. She’s had her things moved into his room, and she undresses, knowing he is watching as she pulls a soft tunic over her head. “That’s not mine.”

“I left in a rush, I had no time to pack. Yours are safe in my room, well loved, I promise.” She kneels at the end of the bed, watching him. “Is there something you wanted,Varric?”

“Yes.” His voice is low with need, and Cassandra crawls forward on her hands and knees until she is over him. Varric leans up and captures her mouth in his own, teeth gently tugging on her bottom lip. She moans, cupping his face in her hands. “I want to be inside you.”

Cassandra pulls back, frowning. “But you are not—”

“Go slow,” he says. “Careful.”

She nods, reaching down to free his cock from his loose breeches and stroking him gently. He groans, head rolling back. Cassandra pushes herself up, hovers over him for a moment before she guides him carefully inside her. Varric’s eyes fly open, gaze locked on hers as she moves, slow and deliberate, fingers stroking herself almost lazily.

“I missed you—” Varric groans. “Cassandra, _fuck_ —”

“Hush,” she murmurs, and leans down to kiss him. “Let me take care of you. Let me give you this.”

“Yes, _yes_ —”

“I could not have lost you,” she says. “How could I? You have given me so much, you have made me love more than I could have ever known. I am yours, completely. Would you leave me, and take that away?”

“Never, _never_ , I—”

“How long has it been? How long has it been since you have come, Varric?”

“ _Weeks._ ”

“My poor thing. My poor, poor thing.” She moves faster, easier now that she is wetter, aroused by her own words, by his pleading voice. “You are close.”

“Yes.”

“Is this what you need? Is this what you want?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“What do you want?”

Varric’s hips punch up, into her, and she gasps, taking him deeper. “I want to come, I want to come inside you, I want you to remember—”

“I could never forget.” She kisses him, hard and desperate, and says, “ _Come._ ”

He does. He cries out and grabs her hips, holding her down as he thrusts into her, emptying himself inside her. She rubs more frantic circles around her clit and feels herself tumble forward as she follows him, clenching around his cock, her hips rolling desperately against him.

“Oh, _Varric._ ” She pants into his neck, tongue tasting the sweat on his skin. She moves off of him and collapses in a heap on his bed. “ _Varric._ ”

“Shit.” He winces a little as he sits up, favoring his arm.

“Did I hurt you?” Cassandra sits up, worried, and he laughs.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than a feisty Seeker to bring me down.”

She sighs. “Forgive me. I didn’t meant to treat you like you were…breakable.”

He shrugs. “I suppose I am, in some way. I’m not a boy anymore.”

Cassandra smiles. “No, you certainly aren’t. But you can take care of yourself. I know this about you.”

Varric nods. “And I know this about you.”

“Love is strange.”

“It is,” he agrees. “But it’s good. It’s _really_ good.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He tries everything he can think of, Cassandra imagines, to keep her from leaving. Short of tying her to a chair, of course, which he does offer to do. “Have we done anything with ropes? Might be fun.”

“Varric.” She takes her travelling cloak from its hook and folds it over her arm.

“Alright, alright. Just a thought.”

She sighs, bending down to kiss him. He is far more mobile than he was days before, but he is milking it, now, and Cassandra cannot stay. While Leliana was relaxed about her sudden departure, it apparently threw Josephine off guard, and she has been fielding complaints from the other members of the council for several days – most of which are about Cassandra and her ability to continue serving.

_You must return as soon as you are able. Arl Teagan is calling for your expulsion, and Duke Cyril, though he remains on your side, has discovered the true reason you reject him, and is plotting a potential sabotage of exports from Kirkwall to Orlais, simply out of spite._

“I’d like to see him try,” Varric had muttered when he saw the letter, but agreed the night before that it was a good idea for her to return.

Now, though, he doesn’t seem so sure.

Cassandra sits on the edge of his bed, and Varric slots himself between her knees, kissing her.

“I’ll miss you, all over again.”

“And I, you.”

“You’re going to miss Summersday. I was _really_ hoping you could stay a bit longer.”

Cassandra nods, letting him fold her into his arms and kiss the top of her head. “I am sorry.”

“Hey.” He puts his fingers under her chin, raising her head. “Don’t be. Don’t _ever_ be sorry for doing what you have to do. I won’t think on it another minute, and neither should you.”

“It is… _wonderful_ here. Though there is no room for my horse.”

“I can fix that.”

“And this room is not large enough for us both.”

“I can fix that, too.”

“And my mirror is still in—” He cuts her off with a kiss, and she submits gladly.

“Sometimes you talk too much, you know that?”

Cassandra wraps her arms around his neck. “It is a terrible habit, picked up from you.” He chuckles against her mouth and they remain that way, for quite some time. She pulls back after a while and murmurs, “Do not let your near-death be the reason I must come home to you again, do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She smiles. “I love you, you fool dwarf.”

“And I, you.” He kisses her forehead. “You _fool_ Seeker.”

  
  



	31. letter set 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric: I’m fine, I promise. I just had something of a moment and took a sledgehammer to a shit statue. Won’t happen again.  
> Cassandra: I cannot say that I certainly approve of you as a city official (Viscount, Varric. You are the _Viscount_.) tearing down city property, but if it makes you happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a pretty big chunk so i halved it into a couple of smaller bits <3 enjoy!

My clever, crafty, beautiful heart, you never cease to amaze me.

I arrived two nights ago, and have been either resting or dealing with the fallout of my hasty departure. I do not want this to worry you, however. In fact, you would be most impressed how I dealt with the Arl and Duke yesterday morning. It is a good story, one I should like to tell in person. Needless to say, should your crops be attacked by _bandits_ , I can only hope you are properly prepared. I did tell the duke it was pointless, but he seemed undeterred.

But this morning, the morning of Summersday - my mind was on my work, but my heart was with you. It was a grand morning of flowers and music, and the capital has not looked more colorful. Divine Victoria was in wonderful spirits, and we entertained musicians and artists and performers into the night. I write this quite late, in fact. Summersday is over, but I am still awake, still _alive_ , my love.

You sent them, didn’t you? You sent Maryden to Val Royeaux. And Cole - my darling, my heart, my only love, you had him make me the most beautiful crown. I will be forever grateful that Leliana gave away my secret. The peonies were so fresh, so beautiful - they still rest on my head. I only just realized this morning - my hair has grown in the past months. I find myself wearing it as my mother did. Nevarrans always did tend to be more relaxed about their hair than I ever was. I should have it cut, but I cannot bring myself to just yet.

For a moment today, I wished I was a mage, so that I might know a way to keep these flowers forever. But I will settle with growing a plant of my own. I learned as a girl how to start my own flowers from those I had been given. I will grow it on my balcony, and think of you whenever I see it.

I have nothing to give you for Summersday, but I hope the lingering moments of my visit can be enough, for now. I left in such a state, but I have not been happier. Please tell Merrill how much I enjoyed visiting her tree, and Isabela how much I appreciate her caring for Madame. And Aveline, for being so strong.

And even Zevran, who apparently sent a necklace made of teeth to my room in Val Royeaux.

Josephine threw it away immediately, but I suppose it is the thought that counts.

I adore you, with every fiber of my being. The Countess is on strict orders to be as well behaved as it is possible for a grumpy crow to be.

 

 

Cassandra, maiden fair --

                You will be glad to know that I actually listened to Bran when he ‘suggested’ I stop working for the day on several occasions this week. I think even he was surprised. But it turns out that staying indoors for so long has actually made me half-decent at this paperwork, and thanks to his diligence I have some actual, genuine free time on my hands.

                I look forward to hearing the tale of the Seeker and the Idiot Ponces. I’ve had no reports of bandits, in truth. I did get a few reports of an absolute shambles of a group trying to hold up the deliveries, but if that’s the best the Duke could get then I feel bad for the guy. Still, I’ve got a case of Sparkler’s wine ready to ship out at a moment’s notice if you need me to smooth any ruffled feathers. It’s my fault you had to deal with them.

                Well. Technically it’s the assassin’s fault, but fair’s fair, I tried to keep you here longer than I perhaps should have done.

                My wound’s healing pretty well - it’ll scar pretty nice, I imagine. Gave it some air on Summersday - first time I’d been out since it happened. I had Aveline with me the whole time, don’t worry. It was nice, actually. People were happy to see me, especially after the kegs were rolled out.

                It was a good day, all in all.

                I missed you, of course, but I thought of you and the Kid, and that was a wonderful thought. I’m glad he made it - I wrote to him a few weeks back when he mentioned they were heading to Orlais, and I asked him to do me a favour. He sent me back a letter written in such awful writing I couldn’t read it. I guess he was happy to do it.

                I miss you, still. But I got ten wonderful days with you - ten days that I didn’t expect, a gift just in time for Summersday. Flowers don’t really seem enough thanks, but rest assured I will find other ways to thank you. Other, far more intimate ways.

                I love you, Cassandra.

                Daisy sends her love, and if Rivaini were in port I’m sure she’d tell me to pass on a big sloppy kiss. She and Lover Boy are halfway up the coast with a gift for the people of Ostwick - we can finally start giving back after all the mercy we’ve been shown. Of course, most of them are fairly hollow gestures, after everyone was gunning to take us over, but we have to play nice. Gotta love politics.

                Thank you. Thank you for coming home to me, for looking after me, for loving me. And take care of yourself, alright? I don’t want to have to return the favour.

                Yours, alive and well,

                -- Varric

 

 

My love, hopefully still taking care of himself, I regret not a single moment of my visit. My only wish is that I could have wandered your city with you by my side as well, but no matter. The next time - and there will be a next time, Varric, I promise - you will be there. Alive and well, as you’ve promised. I can’t be sure when that next time will be, but I will not dwell on it. It will happen when it happens.

I cannot remember being so happy.

Things here progress as slow as they did before, but the Inquisition has begun handing over more and more duties, which pleases the Ponces. Most Holy and I meet daily, though we probably should not. Josephine will be away for some months, and while Leliana and I have great respect for one another, I do not always agree with her decisions. She knows it, and I think she sometimes finds it amusing. We did have a terrible disagreement last night, and I have yet to apologize. I should - it was my fault, I should not debate with her when I am tired - but she will be smug about it and I will be angry again.

I will apologize later. Perhaps.

Cole and Maryden stayed a few days after the Summersday feasts, and I was able to acquaint myself better with their relationship. It is...interesting. I will not say whether I approve or disapprove, as it is not my place - Cole is hardly my child, but I do feel some - oh, is it responsibility, my love? I don’t know, I can’t be sure. The feeling is complicated, as, I suppose, most feelings are.

Perhaps it is the same way you feel about Merrill - a competent young woman, but sometimes not quite suited for the great, angry world that rests at her feet.

I will be joining the Seekers again in a few days. Still no decision, but there was an influx of recruits while I was in Kirkwall, and I suspect training and initiation will take preference over trivial elections. The longer we can put it off, the better. We are not ready yet to mire ourselves in such a debate, nor should we. In truth, I would prefer not to involve myself in it yet. We are simply not ready, and I began the process of rebuilding the Seekers - I will have them do as I see fit.

I do wonder, if I had not taken on the task, would there be an effort? Would anyone else have reached out? Or would it have rebuilt itself in time? One reaching out to another, cautious lines of a web, fragile and strained? I can wonder, and wonder I do - but we are here now, and what happens matters, as it always does.

Tomorrow I will attempt to plant my peony. The smell of flowers still lingers.

 

 

Cassandra, eternal wanderer --

                Daisy told me all about your little adventure. You should have seen her face, Seeker, you’ve made quite the impression on her. I wish I could have joined you, but as I recall I was too busy feeling like utter shit and pretending I was fine. Quite the pastime. I am trying to look after myself, I swear, but Bran’s had to raise his voice a few times and invoke your name. What would the Lady Cassandra say? Usually works.

                Usually.

                Mind you, I’ve got my work cut out - most of the city is being dug up at the moment in one form or another - the Hightown gardens are being planted, with the families of nobles past vying for memorial plots. The Chantry gardens are being overhauled as well, with some very beautiful designs coming to life. Even I, well-known despiser of nature, think they look good. Oh, and the roads in and out of the docks are a mess, so we’re looking into resurfacing there.

                You’re no doubt on your way to the mountains again, so please stay warm - I know the weather’s good, but I still remember chilly mornings in the height of summer at Skyhold.

                I know what you mean about the Kid, by the way - you helped him so much, helped him become the young man he is today, it’s only natural to feel a little motherly about him. But he’s happy, and that makes me happy. Hopefully he’ll be able to stop by in a few months or so - I’m looking forward to introducing him to Daisy. And, of course, keeping Rivaini far away from him.

                Far, far away.

                I hope the new recruits don’t give you too much bother, though knowing you you’ll be barking orders before you even get to the gates. As much as you question it at times, you are a natural leader. Just don’t work too hard, alright?

                Ruffles sent me a letter - apparently I left a few things at Skyhold, and they’ve only just gotten around to collecting them. By “a few things” she probably means the seventeen copies of Hard in Hightown that Buttercup insisted I leave on various shelves. Not sure I want those back, after what she left inside each of them. Still, it was funny. She was funny.

                Being idle doesn’t suit me much, anymore. I’m lingering on thoughts. See what you’ve done to me, Seeker? You’ve ruined my laid-back easy-going nature. Never thought I’d be grateful for that.

                My city is noisy, outside the windows, but it’s a good sort of noise. Productive. The markets are finally starting to see outside traders setting up shop, and there’s even talk about doing something with the Bone Pit.

                Not sure what, yet, but talk is good.

                I’ve been in meetings nonstop this week - well, mostly. I had to take a few days off after I aggravated my wound - I’m fine, I promise. I just had something of a moment and took a sledgehammer to a shit statue. Won’t happen again.

                You must have seen it a few times now - that monstrosity they had up by the docks to commemorate Hawke’s valiant victory over the Qunari oppressors? With a Templar helm, of all things. And the size of it! Hawke always laughed about it, but it bothered him. And it sure bothered me. He deserved better from this city.

                Aveline is furious, because by rights I should be locked up for vandalism, but because I’m a city official and I used a worktool from city roadworks I haven’t actually done anything wrong. Of course, she was hugely unsympathetic to my pain afterwards, but I deserve that. I could have waited, could have gotten someone else to do it.

                Should have. But I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. There’s enough small memorials of my friend around the city from the people whose lives were changed by him. We don’t need another. He’d be alright with that.

                It doesn’t hurt anymore.

                Yours, liberated,  
                -- Varric

 

 

I do love you, Varric, but why are you sometimes such a fool? A sledgehammer, my love? Truly? I certainly hope the pain later was worth the satisfaction. But I do know which statue you destroyed, and I will say - it certainly was an eyesore. If you are feeling better then I suppose that is what matters. Nonetheless, I cannot say that I certainly approve of you as a city official (Viscount, Varric. You are the _Viscount_.) tearing down city property, but if it makes you happy.

I am in the mountains and it is rather cold. There was snow on the training pit, but it melted after sunrise. Now there is simply mud. And a great deal of it. I've developed a great distaste for mud. What is its purpose? Why does it exist? If only to slow my progress, it would seem. No matter - mud or not, we continue forward. Seeker Moira has spoken nothing of choosing a leader. We cleared out bandits from the woods yesterday morning. That was work enough.

I sent along some books last week I thought you might enjoy, and there are seeds I'm sending with the Countess. For your own garden, perhaps. There are beautiful flowers here, and I think they would make you smile.

You should know your shirts make an excellent shield against colder nights, along with a few extras blankets - though they are still a bit too large, but no matter.

I found a poem, my love, and I thought I might pass it on to you.

 

I rescind, take back my angry heart, and fall.  
My love is with me, and my love might take it all.

How grateful should I be  
To be won by a man such as he?  
He keeps my soul completely free,  
And my love, he loves only me.

Perchance we should tumble  
And our mountaintop should crumble -  
My love is at the very end,  
Waiting to catch me –

To begin again.  
By the Maker's will I return to him,  
And in our hearts we expel our own sin -  
We create in us a perfect light,  
And we walk hand in hand, and do not fear the night.

 

 

Cassandra, for whom I am grateful beyond words --

                Oh, come on. A sledgehammer is the least questionable of my many bad decisions over the years. Besides, I didn’t plan it! I was just in the heat of the moment! We’ll replace it with something a little more welcoming. I’ve put the idea to a committee, they love that sort of thing.

                ‘Viscount’ is the highest city official there is. And I wasn’t wearing the crown at the time. So technically I’m still right, which is my favourite kind of right. But I promise not to be so reckless again. Well, not without good cause. I might be a fool, but you already knew that. Part of my charm, remember?

                Shame about the mud. Hopefully the weather clears up a little as the season continues - although I suppose mud might slow the bandits down a little. If you need any more supplies, let me know? I’m sure you won’t, but the offer’s always there. Still, are the recruits helping with the busywork? Tell ‘em it’s good for the constitution or some shit like that.

                Do my shirts still comfort you? I had half a mind to send you a ‘fresh’ one, so to speak. But they are pretty thick. You know me, I like my comforts, and I wasn’t about to freeze to death on the side of a mountain. Actually, I could do with some thinner ones here - it’s nice outside, but in my stuffy office it’s becoming something of a problem. I’ll talk to my guy.

                I have no poetry to give you this time, heart of mine, only my thanks for thinking of me when you found this. I keep it on my desk, close to my hand, and it reminds me of how far we’ve come, and how warm your hand is around mine. And thank you for the seeds - I can’t say I have much of a green thumb, but Daisy’s been itching to do something with the small area of dirt out back, so I’m sure I’ll have some help in that regard.

                I miss you, but you’re all around me in such little ways. You’re still here, even when you’re far away. I am blessed by you, Cassandra. Utterly so.

                Yours, enraptured,  
                -- Varric

 

 

My love, I write to you from Val Chevin, once more. I traveled to Val Royeaux along with Most Holy, who I met on my return, and Josephine. The Arl had left for Ferelden on family matters, and Duke Cyril for a few weeks of traveling with his supposed new lover.

I do not know why it upsets me so, it is only - they are only things, Varric. They can be replaced, but I -

It would seem our rooms were vandalized, in our absence. How, I cannot be sure. The guards were not even aware of it, and were shocked to discover the state of things. We are unsure if they attacked the Exalted Council specifically, or if it was another attempt on Most Holy’s life. I have not mentioned to you how many assassination attempts there have been, you know Leliana as well as I. She is undeterred. But, still - it is troublesome.

Why is it so difficult to say? My mirror, my lovely mirror Leliana brought from my guest room into my permanent quarters - it is broken. Shattered. My books have been torn apart, many of my personal items ripped to shreds. One of your shirts, destroyed.

My infant flower, the sprout on my balcony, and the roses underneath - all destroyed.

They are only things, Leliana continues to say it, but -

They were **my** things. And I do not have very many.

We have moved to the smaller residence in Val Chevin, why Leliana has the capital checked for traps and anyone who may have lingered. She predicts we will return at the end of the month, to reconvene for another council meeting. The guard will be doubled.

They shredded a painting from Josephine’s sister. I have not been able to convince her to leave her room for some time.

It is hard to lose the things that remind us of home. I have your letters with me, always, and for that I can be grateful. I suppose it is the principle of the matter, that someone would take what is mine and twist it to accomplish something of their own.

We are all exhausted. We have been worn thin by work and duty. Of course they should strike now, when we are at our lowest, and without retribution.

I am well enough, my love, and happy that I am alive.

I am lucky to still have one of your shirts, and, as always, your affection.

 

               

Cassandra, strong and immovable --

                I’m sorry. Shit, I’m so sorry. I know it’s just stuff, but stuff has a way of grabbing the heart, pulling at memories and making itself… more than just ‘stuff’. And to lose it in such a mindless and cruel fashion… Maker, I’m sorry, Cassandra.

                Please convey to Most Holy Nightingale Kirkwall’s regret at such heinous action, and should she require my people’s skills, they are at her disposal. I know her people are better, but if she needs a different viewpoint… well, they’re there. And I’ve sent a letter to Ruffles’s sister, requesting a commission for her - it won’t be the same, I know, but some faces aren’t meant to be upset and I count our Ambassador amongst them.

                As for you… well, I know there’s little I can do from my desk here in Kirkwall that can right this wrong. I already have a mirror for you, but that is still a few weeks away. And I was going to surprise you with peonies in my garden, but these are all things for when you come home, and they’re not much use to you right now. I do have one thing I can send you, however - books. Quite a few, in fact, and most of them signed - I’m not exactly popular with a lot of the romance crowd, but when the Viscount of Kirkwall asks for a signed copy, not many people say no. I’ll send them along shortly, once I’ve finished signing my own for you.

                Just as a precaution, I wouldn’t show anyone the second chapter of Swords & Shields. The written dedication is… a little risque.

                I know it’ll never be the same - the pages are new, unloved, and the familiar passages that you hold so dear won’t be as worn. I can’t give you back those tangible memories, but hopefully when you re-read them all you’ll remember those feelings (and yes, I have even swallowed my pride and gotten you that abysmal series by LeCheau, even though I still think he’s a hack, because I know you enjoyed it)

                Oh, and if you happen to find a shirt when you open the crate… well, I’ve been meaning to send you one anyway.

                Yours, always thinking of you,  
                -- Varric

[ _in a tidy script, on the title page of Swords & Shields Chapter Two_]

For Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Get-on-with-it Pentaghast,

the greatest inspiration of my life. Never far from my mind, particularly when  
I was writing the scene in the clearing. And the scene in the study. And  
definitely the scene on page seventy-four. You were definitely very much on  
my mind then.

                I love you, my knight-captain.

                Varric Tethras


	32. letter set 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra: Know that I love you, infinitely, and without pause - no matter what happens.  
> Varric: You have stories to tell me, Seeker. I’m all ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post these a few days ago, but I got distracted with Pokemon and Halloween. <3 -w.l.

My love, rescuer of my library, while it is true my books were well worn and well loved, to receive such lovely copies was a wonderful surprise. I did mistakenly open the new copy of _Swords and Shields_ in front of Josephine, but she was rather pleased about the letter from her sister, inquiring as to who in Kirkwall, of all places, would want a painting from her.

We are still in Val Chevin, but for only a few more days. We will return to the capital soon. Most Holy apparently expected an attack, and created a surprise travel arrangement to throw off those who had planned it. She did not expect them to lash out at the rest of us as they did. If you should be sent a hefty amount of coin any time soon, be courteous and accept it. She feels guilty that you should be the one to replace my meager possessions.

Opening that crate and seeing what you had given me - I know they were only things, but...they were important, and I am glad that you understand that.

What I cannot understand is your distaste for LeCheau. Dalia is a heroine without compare, Varric! She is a noblewoman and a rogue, a dashing savior to men who bumble about, unable to take care of themselves - what could I not adore about her, or the series? Oh, and to have it signed - you flatter me.

I appreciate the shirt. Winter approaches, and Orlais is always rather crisp.

(Did you tell Bran what happened? He sent a letter along with several flower seeds from your garden.)

Cassandra, she of questionable literary taste --

                 ~~Dalia's character is as thin as the parchment LeCheau prints on. He relies far too much on the reader, making sure they know the entire story before his characters do. It's a cheap trick, designed to make you feel important and create a sense of urgency to your reading pace and~~

                You know, what's important here is you're happy.

                Of course I told Bran, he was demanding to know why your letter hadn't lifted my spirits. We're dangerously close to being friends, sometimes. And you know he's got a soft spot for you, naturally, I didn't know he'd written, though. I'm going to rib him about that for a while. And calling it a garden is a little generous - Daisy says it'll look better when things start to actually grow. At the moment it's just dirt and a couple of spiky-looking shrubs. Still, it was worth an afternoon in the fresh air.

                Most Holy Nightingale is far too generous to a fool dwarf in love, and I'll wager she knows it. Still, a generous donation to the city indeed. It went on a huge order of fabrics and cushions for the new Chantry - don't worry, I'm not veering away from traditional styles, but given what these people have been through, I figure communing with the Maker should at least be easy on the knees and back.

                I received word that our Revered Mother should be appointed within the month, and then it's just a matter of waiting on the artists to finish their work. And, of course, finding time in Most Holy's schedule. Still a fair few months away, at best, but I've been promised a better estimate soon.

                The city almost looks good. Well, aside from the scaffolding everywhere and the huge piles of dirt and the constantly-winding paths around all the building work. Still a damn sight better than it was.

                Oh, and I finally heard from Sparkler, who did proceed to lecture me on the right ways to treat you and how that list did not include getting killed by some lowlife Coterie thug. Which, coming from him, was actually quite sweet.

                Yours, quite alive,  
                -- Varric

To my love, on his high horse - it is a pity, then, that you had to scoop from the dregs of the literary barrell for me. Nevertheless, I appreciate it. When the nights are long and cold, there is little that comforts me more than my favorite tale - typically when it is written by you.

But I will defend Dalia with my dying breath. Do not push this issue.

We are in Val Royeaux again, and the guard has been doubled, as well as a threat issued. Leliana has discovered who was behind the plot - apparently she had some help from a few well-placed agents from Kirkwall. I don’t suppose you know anything about that? Nonetheless, as all feel safer. And Duke Cyril is engaged - he’s become much easier to deal with. He is expected to have a rather large wedding in a year or so. You will join me, of course, and be proper. He thinks you’re some sort of wild animal, still.

I am thrilled that your Chantry is coming along. Most Holy did inquire about it sometime ago, and I was pleased to tell her things were moving along quite nicely. Josephine would like to attend the consecration, if she is able to, and told me she would write to you within the week to make arrangements, for whenever it is time.

I should hope sooner rather than later, my love. Perhaps the only drawback of seeing you in Kirkwall was the now incessant need I have to return. But no matter - things progress well, here, and I will be leaving soon for the Hunterhorn Mountains to finally discuss the Seeker’s leadership with Seeker Moira and many of the others. Hopefully, in a few letters, I will have a better response, when you ask me of the future.

I am glad Dorian wrote to you, finally. He has told me repeatedly he intends to.

Bull and his Chargers will be passing through Val Royeaux in a few day’s time - hopefully before I depart. I’m sure I will have a tale or two of my own to tell if I am able to spend any amount of time with them.

Continue to be well, my love. Tell Bran the seeds took to soil quite nicely.

Cassandra, the bright star in my sky --

                I’m not sure how to receive the news of Duke Cyril, given that I still think he’s a pompous ass, but I suppose everyone deserves to be happy. And if this means we get to go to a swanky party and hold hands, I’m all for it. I make no promises to be proper, however, because I have a feeling that ‘proper’ behaviour does not include taking you into a side-room and ravishing you senseless.

                Ruffles is more than welcome to join the road trip to my fair(ish) city. I have to admit, I’ve missed her, and I’d love for her to meet some of the Guild - most notably the ones she’s written scathing letters to in the past. I want to see their heads explode when they come up against her soft side. I await her letter eagerly.

                Don’t worry about the Seekers. I know you weren’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of having that conversation, but I know you, and I know you’ll hold them all to task and the right choices will be made. The selfish parts of me don’t want to say it, but… good luck. I believe in you, Cassandra, whatever comes.

                Kirkwall misses you, and more pointedly many of my friends do too. Bran, of course, is over the moon to hear the seeds were well-received, and Daisy asks about you as often as she asks about anything. Aveline sends her regards - which reminds me, some interesting news from the guard-captain… she’s expecting. Hell of a thing, Seeker, to hear her admit that. The way she tells it, the thing just appeared in her overnight! Donnic’s been strutting around the barracks, pleased as punch, and there’s already a betting pool for names.

                Between you and me? It couldn’t have happened to a better woman. Aveline took Hawke’s death pretty hard - when they came to Kirkwall, Hawke’s family kept her close, like one of their own, and she’s always had his back. Even when they didn’t agree, she backed him up. And then, of course, he ran off and died, and she wasn’t there. She felt guilty. Took a long conversation and a reminder about who Hawke was to wake her up from that. But since then… I don’t know, I think she just missed that sense of family that Hawke always brought to the table. And I know she’s not the only one, though Rivaini would never admit it.

                Still. Life finds a way to keep surprising us, I suppose. I told her she needs to find a replacement, at least for when the baby’s due, and pointed out they’d have to be able to deal with me. The search could… take a while.

                Shit. I’m gonna be an uncle. Better start cleaning up my best stories!

                Yours, censored,  
                -- Varric

Your confidence, my love, is inspiring. I’m glad you believe in me, because there are times when I do not quite believe in myself. But, I must continue forward. I must go when I am needed and do as I must.

The mountains are less muddy, which everyone is grateful for. I had a rather pleasant talk one on one with Seeker Moira, who wondered what kept me traveling so often. I told her of you, Varric, and she was softer than I expected. She didn’t press me about the future, but I think she understands me better, now. And, of course, I understand her as well. We will get to the bottom of this, perhaps in a few days. I intend to stay more than a month here. When I leave, I will know more.

I am incredibly pleased for Aveline - what a lovely thing for the two of them, and such a happy occasion. I will be sure to send along my prayers and perhaps a gift in time, though with you around I’m sure they will not want for much.

How lucky, in peacetime, to be able to start a family and be happy. They are blessed, truly, and I am glad for them.

[ _later, in a crunched hand_ ]

More bandits. I wonder if we are in their territory - it was not this way so many months ago. I will have to clear them out, negotiate with their leader perhaps. I cannot be returning only to find our stores depleted by lazy rogues each time.

We decided again to postpone choosing a leader, but only because a veteran Seeker wrote to us - he will be here in a few months. We will choose then. Just in time to return to Kirkwall, I believe - I woulder prefer to leave from here, it is closer. Perhaps after I will join you and wait for Leliana to arrive for the Chantry blessing.

I have brought some of my new books. It is quiet here -  a perfect place to read, and think of you.

Your intimate scenes mean so much more when I can imagine you doing the same to me.

I miss your hands, inside and on me, your body pressing against mine, the heat of your cock and your hands and your breath - all of it bringing me to the edge.

Soon, my love. Soon.

Cassandra, she of loving hands and warm heart --

                Just when I think this whole Seeker business is set in stone… a veteran Seeker. Are you sure he’s alright? I mean, I know a lot of them escaped the Lord Seeker’s wrath, but the timing of this is remarkable. A little too remarkable. Or maybe that’s just me seeing shadows everywhere again - apparently that’s a side effect of someone trying to kill you. I got complacent, after the Davris decided to leave me alone, and now I’m back on edge.

                I’m sure this new Seeker will be fine.

                I'm glad the mud has abated. We find ourselves with similar luck here, and the city has been alive with the sound of buildings being worked on. Unfortunately, we also share your problems. The streets are dangerous after dark once more, and as much as I'd like to be out there with Bianca in hand hunting down the idiots who think they can terrorise and extort, apparently that's frowned upon when you're Viscount.

                Might do it anyway.

                Lover Boy is back in port next month, so hopefully we can get to the bottom of the problem then - personally, I think it's a power play by the Coterie, but I can't move on a hunch. And I'm not willing to risk any more lives on this. We lost two guardsmen a few days ago, good people who deserved better. Their families look to me for answers.

                If you do talk to the bandits, be careful. Please.

                Yours, with hands clasped and heart aching,  
                -- Varric

[in a sloped scrawl]

                I've been praying a lot more as of late, though I'm sure it's not fit for the Maker's ears. Praying for you, for your gentle smile, for your passionate kisses. I think of you always, of course, but you haunt me in the evenings, when I am lying between the sheets - memories of your skin against mine, your feverish cries as our bodies move together. You command me, and I come undone. I beg, and you fall apart. It is enough and not enough.

                I tried to write a third chapter of Swords & Shields, but it soon devolved into a list of things I want to do to you and left me wanting, my hand a poor substitute for your touch.

                I ache for you.

                -- your fool.

My heart, my darling, my lonely love, please - you will break my heart. I cannot bear to think of you in such a state, though I find myself feeling the same, far too often. If it hurts too much to write the book, leave it. I will be sure to give you as much inspiration as possible next time we’re together. It will most certainly be when Most Holy is due to consecrate the Kirkwall Chantry, that I can promise.

Please tell your workers to hurry things along.

I am not worried about this Seeker’s return - should it be a trap, we are well equipped to take care of it. But I discovered in my earlier travels that too many of us barely managed to escape - that being said, “many” Seekers is not much at all. We are taking no more recruits, and negotiations with the bandits went as smooth as one might expect - unless you were expecting a hail of arrows or perhaps for us all to be swallowed up by a trap. We were not. We are all fine. The bandits, however, are doing significantly worse than they were before - considering many of them are now dead.

All this being said, while I doubt it is proper for a viscount to walk the streets at night, defending his city - I am sure that nothing such as propriety will stop you, my love. If anyone should be considered, it is Aveline. I doubt she would take too kindly to your brand of justice, but perhaps that is what needs to be done. That aside, I will not give you any official advice on what to do, but as the woman who loves you I will say - tread cautiously in all things, but do not resign yourself to something less than what you are.

You are, despite your misgivings, quite the hero. And you are mine.

Is there anything else to say? I can’t think of it. I’ve been drilling recruits all day, and the Countess is hungry. Or I am - I can’t remember my last meal, but there is bread to eat, and always wine. Say what you will for the Seekers - they are never without good wine.

Cassandra, light of my life who should probably be eating more --

                Lover Boy sends his regards. Well, more than his regards, as you can probably guess, but I stopped listening to him extolling your more physical virtues after he begged to run his hands through my chest hair. The man’s insatiable! I told him, in no uncertain terms, that my chest was off-limits to anyone but you. After all, I am yours.

                He confirmed my suspicions, and after a terse meeting with Aveline who said that she wouldn’t back me up if I went out there on my own, I spent an eventful night with Rivaini and Lover Boy at my back, taking out Coterie scum. It felt good, Seeker, to be walking the streets and reminding them that Varric Tethras isn’t just a man who spins tales and appeases the masses.

                I could feel Hawke with us at times, but I felt you with me too. You would have smiled to see it - Bianca on my shoulders and a quip on my tongue? It was like it used to be.

                At any rate, I think we got the message across. The guards say the streets are quieter - not silent, but better.

                I’d suggest you toast to your own successes, but it seems you Seekers have that well in hand. If the wine’s as good as you say it is, I might just sign up myself! Actually, that’s not a terrible idea - I hear there’s a woman there, tall with dark hair and a fierce heart that holds my own. If you see her, tell her I love her. Oh, and tell her to keep track of her eating habits more - it wouldn’t do to see her waste away before I got to see her again.

                You’ll be pleased to hear that the artists are almost done - relatively speaking, of course. Every day, we inch closer and closer. I have offered them a deadline, and they agreed that it would be acceptable, so this afternoon I sent word to Ruffles to arrange the visit. Which makes it practically set in stone, as far as I’m concerned.

                Bran’s already panicking, but you know what he’s like.

                I, on the other hand, am counting down the days until my eyes are rewarded with the sight of you, until my hands can feel yours once more. Shit, I’m as giddy as a Chantry sister at the prospect. Which, admittedly, is probably making me insufferable, but at least I’m getting things done.

                Soon, heart of mine. Soon.

                Yours, in ever-more-excited tones,  
               -- Varric

[unsent, crumpled and left on the floor of the barracks]

~~I prayed to the Maker for strength, but instead I found myself saying your name~~

~~Is this what it means? When they call love a burden?~~

~~I wish it weren’t. It doesn’t feel so heavy, not when you are near~~

[on fresh stationary]

My love, this heart of mine beats in time to every moment that passes between now and when I see you again. I was told when I returned from the mountains that we would be leaving at the end of next week.

When I asked for a rushed job, Varric, I meant it only out of passion. But if they are truly finished, then I will count the hours.

Leliana is looking forward to seeing how Kirkwall fairs.

I am looking forward to see other things.

I apologize, my love. This letter is brief, but no sooner had I returned than my attentions were needed elsewhere - this was my first free moment. Know that I love you, infinitely, and without pause - no matter what happens.

Cassandra, close enough to touch --

                Nobody rushed anything. I just remembered the first rule of being an artist in any form - fear the deadline. Honestly, the place looks amazing. It’s… welcoming. For everyone. A lot less condemning. I could actually see myself coming here, which is… a terrifying thought, but indicative of its open atmosphere. I think Most Holy Nightingale will really like it. And our new Revered Mother is a wonderfully kind woman. She sat down to take tea with me a few weeks ago, and we talked for a good few hours. She understands what this city has been through, and what the people really need from the Chantry right now. It’s good to be on the same page.

                Kirkwall, as it is, is still a lot of building sites pretending to be a city. But we do have a tour planned of the more developed areas, such as the elven community - many of whom are thrilled that the Divine is gracing us with her presence. The nobles are falling over themselves to get a front row seat. It’s been fun to watch. And the guard are all on their best behaviour, lest the pregnant Guard-Captain shout them into shape. All in all, it’s a good time to announce to the world that we are ready.

                We’re pretty much ready, anyway.

                As for you and me… well, I know you won’t be here long, but I’m hoping after the official tour I’ll be able to steal you away for a little while. Bran has an evening of suitable entertainment for Most Holy Nightingale and Ruffles, and I have a feeling that we could find a little entertainment of our own. Besides, you have stories to tell me, Seeker. I’m all ears.

                I know you’re probably still busy - and so am I, in truth - but it’s a week until I see you and I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep and I barely eat and Bran is about ready to take a swing at me for losing concentration, but you’re almost here. You are so close, Cassandra. And I know it’s just a flying visit, I know you still have so much to do, but… it’s one step closer, and it’s time I get to spend with you. How could I not be excited?

                I love you, with everything I have. I can’t wait.

                Yours, just around the corner,  
                -- Varric


	33. interlude: seekers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana finds her in the gardens, eyes to the heavens.
> 
> “Do they speak to you?”
> 
> “Not anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, have a couple OC's? sorry, I lost some motivation this past week/weekend what with Halloween and such. Back on track!  
> -w.l.

His name is Desmond, and he has been a Seeker for a long, _long_ time.

  
  


“Perhaps you wonder, Seeker Pentaghast, where I was?”

She shakes her head. “I do not.”

“You wouldn’t care for the story?”

Cassandra sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No. Not particularly.” Behind Desmond, she sees Moira’s lips quirk up, and it takes _effort_ not to smile. “I...am only happy that you are here.”

Desmond nods. “That’s a good attitude, Cassandra, but still. We must be vigilant.”

“We have been nothing but.”

“Of course. That explains why bandits were able to rob your stores, or why wolves were able to attack your recruits, or why–”

Cassandra slams her fist down on the meager table they are sat at, and stands. “ _Enough._ ”

Desmond stands with her. “You will remember who you are speaking to.”

“Yes, I am aware. I am aware of who you are. I am aware that you _hid_ while our brothers and sisters were led like lambs to the slaughter. I am aware that you knew full well I was searching for any that survived, and did not find me. I am _aware_ that you knew precisely where we were, months before you wrote, and still, you did not join us.” She points. “I have worked tirelessly to rebuild this order, _without_ your help. I will not submit to you, simply because you once held status over me. Your status is gone. It died out with Lucius.”

“That is _not_ –”

“We are done, for the evening. Moira, show Seeker Desmond to his quarters. We will continue this discussion in the morning, once everyone has had time to consider their _place._ ”

* * *

 

Alone in her meager room, Cassandra breathes, prays, and reads. She hears Moira’s telltale knock at the door, and calls for her to enter. The woman steps into the room, smiling.

“He’s angry.”

“He should be. It was...improper, what I did.”

“Dunno. I thought it was fitting. He wants you to say he should be Lord Seeker.”

“If he is so concerned with status, then why does he seek my approval?”

“Because you’re right, and he knows it. He gave up, but now he’s the most senior one of us here, and he thinks that makes him entitled. Should be you,” Moira says quietly. “But...I don’t think you want it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t, yeah. But I have thoughts. Same as anyone else.” She takes a tentative seat, folding her hands in her lap. “You would be an excellent Lady Seeker, Cassandra. But if your heart lies elsewhere–”

“My heart is of no consequence here.”

“You say that, and I believe that you _want_ it to be the truth, but you and I both know where you would be right now, given the choice. Doesn’t make you _weak_ ,” she adds quickly, when Cassandra opens her mouth to protest. “Maker’s balls, Pentaghast, I don’t mean to put you on edge about it. But there’s no harm in choosing your heart over all this.” She sighs. “If you left tomorrow, everyone here would go on living. Doesn’t mean we don’t need you, but you should know.” She stands. “It isn’t your duty to lead us forever.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Maybe not. They’re just _thoughts_ , Cassandra. Only thoughts.”

* * *

 

Once, she’d suspected Moira of having a hard heart to love.

Now she wonders if the woman is too soft.

* * *

 

It is early when they gather. If Seeker Desmond is angry with her for the previous night’s outburst, he doesn’t say. Instead he gives her a nod and settles into one of the pews of their makeshift Chantry. Moira leads them in prayer.

Cassandra knows how these things happen. She knows what kind of fervor power sets in a man. After prayers, Desmond stands and takes his place in front of them. The others are silent - they’re as aware as Cassandra is of how this works.

“All of you are here because of one, common identity. You are _all_ Seekers. You answered the call, you will, when proper leadership has been elected, undergo the rituals necessary. But without _true_ leadership, none of this can take place. Without a Lord Seeker, you are bereft.”

“And you would take the position?” someone shouts from the middle of the room. Desmond doesn’t move. “We don’t even know who you _are._ You just showed up, told us you were one if us.”

“I am one of you. I have been one of you longer than you’ve been _alive_ , runt--”

“You won’t talk to my recruits that way,” Moira says, standing. “Seeker Cassandra and I put a lot of work into finding these people, finding the ones who didn’t lose their lives to Lucius and his _insanity._ ”

“How lucky for you that you did not, Moira.”

“Indeed.” She folds her arms over her chest. “How lucky for us _both._ ”

Desmond is unaffected. “It no longer matters. What matters now is choosing a leader who will take our people down the right path, who _knows_ what to do with the secrets entrusted to them.”

“Seeker Cassandra has the book,” a woman says. “So that makes her Lady Seeker already, doesn’t it?” There is collective murmuring all around her, and Cassandra supposes she can’t allow it to go on any longer.

“I am not your leader. We have no leader. Seeker Lucius gave me the book, believing it would break our order down. But it has not. We are stronger, now. Perhaps stronger than we were before.”

“Give me the book, then,” Desmond says.

“What?”  
He steps forward. “Cassandra. You know who should lead us. You _know_ it should be me—”

“It should _be_ Seeker Cassandra!” someone shouts. “She found us! You don’t know _anything!_ ”

Moira steps between them. “ _Enough._ That’s...that’s enough.” She puts a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. “We don’t have to make this decision right now. I’m _begging_ you. Don’t make it now. Don’t make it yet.”

“It...it is not my decision to make.”

“Actually…” Desmond sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have the book, Cassandra. It may not have been...official, but—” He stands straighter. “Lord Seeker Lucius is dead. You will either assume leadership of this order, or choose who will. That’s the way of things. And you know it.” He pauses. “I can only hope you do what is _right._ ”

* * *

 

In the privacy of Cassandra’s room, Moira rages. “How  _dare_ he. How dare he think he can simply come here and—”

“Please.” Cassandra runs a hand through her hair, trailing along the braid hanging over her shoulder. “No more.”

“Cassandra—”

“I must...I must return to Val Royeaux. I have other duties. Other...other things.”

“The Chantry,” Moira says quietly, and smiles. “You’re so lucky,” she says. “So lucky to have his heart—”

“Don’t.”

“You can’t make that choice. You can’t lead us.”

“I can’t let Desmond do it either.”

Moira nods. “I know.”

“So you see, then? You see—”

“Then let him do it.”

“ _Moira._ ”

“Let Desmond do it. I’m here, I’ll keep him in check. And you won’t leave us, you just won’t _lead_ us. I know you, Cassandra. You won’t be able to keep away.”

“No, of course not, but there is _no reason_ that I could not lead and—”

“But you don’t _want to._ ”

Cassandra opens her mouth to argue, but finds nothing. Because Moira is right.

She doesn’t _want_ to be Lady Seeker.

* * *

 

She has only one night of rest in Val Royeaux before they depart for Kirkwall. Leliana finds her in the gardens, eyes to the heavens.

“Do they speak to you?”

“Not anymore.”

“My friend.” Leliana sits next to her. “You could not make a decision?”

“I wasn’t...prepared. I have the book,” she explains. “So I must pass it on.”

“And why shouldn’t it be you?”

“It is not because of Varric,” Cassandra says quickly, and Leliana laughs.

“I would never assume so. I know you better than that.” Leliana takes her hand. “But it is a _little_ about him, is it not?”

“It would be hard to continue our relationship if...if I were to lead the Seekers, yes. So many letters. I am not sure if I can continue that way. I want... _something._ I want a sign, or perhaps I want it to end.”

“You don’t want that.”

“No. I have a list of all the things I do not want, but I can’t seem to decide what it is I _do._ ”

“Perhaps our visit will clear things up.”

Cassandra shakes her head. “I worry it will complicate things.”

“Don’t. Let it calm you. Let it prove you right or wrong, it doesn’t matter. You are, at the end of it all, _yourself._ You have nothing to prove or explain to anyone. Your choice is yours, no matter how or why you make it.”

These are truths Cassandra knows, and quite well, too - but it helps.

 _It helps_ , when Leliana says them outloud.

It isn’t easier, but it is better.

* * *

 

On the balcony, her peony is sprouting.


	34. interlude: question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, look. I know you all had your concerns about this, but everything's _fine._
> 
> ... right???  
>  -v.

One day. Varric had but one day left to wait, and then -

 

“Most Holy, the Lady Josephine and Lady Cassandra will be staying in the Royal House, of course, and we have set aside lodgings for their entourage.” Bran takes a moment to double-check his list. “Arrangements of dahlias and peonies are ready to be put out, with the lilies for Most Holy and Lady Josephine and the peonies for Lady Cassandra already present in their chambers.”

“Alright.” Varric runs a hand through his hair as he paces the floor. “The artists are done?”

“The paint is drying as we speak.”

“Gardeners?”

“Installed the last shrub this morning.”

“And the route -”

“Has been cleared, with all current building-work halted and screened off.” Bran smiles slightly. “You’re nervous.”

He offers a laugh. “Yeah, a bit.”

“Don’t be. Everything will be -”

Varric stops, glaring at the man. “ _Don’t_ say it, Bran.”

“... with this city’s history, you might have a point.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “What about the other plans?”

Bran’s eyes gleam as he produces another list. “Candles, flowers and place-settings are all ready to be moved into the dining area tomorrow afternoon. The chef from the Rivain insists everything is ready in the kitchen, and your clothes are hanging up behind your door, ready for you to change into after the official proceedings.”

“And the ring?”

“Back from the jewellers this morning, it’s by your bedside. _Do_ try not to lose it,” he adds kindly.

Varric makes a noise that is half hysterical and half derisive, but says nothing, leaning against his desk for a long moment.

Bran chuckles - a noise that Varric is growing fond of, despite himself. “It will be fine,” he assures him. “I’ll never repeat this, even under oath, but… you’re a good man, Varric. She can see that better than anyone.”

He smiles, turning to face the seneschal. “You’re not so bad yourself. Thank you, for everything.”

Bran offers a short bow. “If that’s everything, ser, I’ll be off.”

“Don’t - Bran, _really_ , you _know_ you don’t have to call me -”

The man laughs as he leaves. “Goodnight, Varric.”

* * *

The dawn brings frantic last-minute checks, and Varric fussing over his crown.

“Stop fussing.”

“You know I hate it.”

Aveline rolls her eyes. “And _you_ know this counts as one of the few times you actually _have_ to wear it.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, and Bran starts sniggering. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing, honestly - only, Lady Cassandra makes -”

Aveline shoves the seneschal. “Oh, _do_ shut up, Bran. Come on, they’ll be here any minute.”

The trio make it out to the front of the keep, the sun shining down on Kirkwall in celebration, and Varric takes a deep breath as the first of the Divine’s entourage come into view. For the first time that week, the realisation that he was about to be face-to-face once more with Leliana, a former spymaster, now head of the most sacred order in the world… his hand comes up to push back his hair nervously.

At his back, Aveline murmurs, “Varric.”

“Alright, alright.”

 _Showtime_ , he thinks, and the easy smile comes to his lips as the woman of the hour appears. Leliana looks radiant as she descends the carriage, and he bows deeply, much to her amusement.

“Most Holy.”

“Viscount. It is wonderful to see you again, dear friend.”

He offers a smile, crooked and soft. “It’s an honour to have you here.”

Behind her, from the next carriage, Josephine appears, resplendent in gold and blue.

“Viscount Tethras!”

He smiles, but beyond her Cassandra steps out of the carriage and his heart swells at the sight of her. It must show on his face, for the Ambassador laughs softly.

“Sorry, Lady Josephine, where are my manners?” He takes her hand, a light kiss to her knuckles, and she laughs again.

“I do not recall you ever using my name before.”

“Probably haven’t,” he admits, “but I can’t be seen to be calling the Ambassador of the Inquisition by an improper name, can I?”

Her eyes sparkle. “You might,” she says quietly, “when there are less people watching.”

“I’ll bear that in mind...   _Ruffles_.” He winks, before she moves past him and he is standing face to face with the Seeker.

She smiles broadly. “Varric.”

“Cassandra.” He takes her hand, squeezes her fingers gently as he presses a lingering kiss against her skin. “Always a pleasure.”

“Indeed.” They share a smile, a blush, and his heart warms.

Bran clears his throat.

Varric turns to the three women, slipping back seamlessly into the humble host. “Might I formally introduce Captain Aveline Hendyr of the City Guard, and Seneschal Bran Cavin of Kirkwall...”

* * *

“... and to your left, your retainers’ quarters. If it would please Most Holy, we have allotted some time for recuperation from your long trip, and we will reconvene for the parade shortly.”

Leliana laughs. “But of course, Viscount.”

“Please, call me Varric. It’s bad enough that _he_ keeps calling me ‘ser’...” He grins as Bran chokes, and the Divine laughs again before retiring to her quarters.

Josephine and Cassandra fall into step behind him. “You’ve been practising,” teases the Ambassador.

“Of course,” he replies, “I had three beautiful women to entertain, what man wouldn’t run through his lines? Your room is just here, Ruffles -”

She lets out a soft gasp as Bran opens the door. “Lilies? Oh, Varric, you _shouldn’t_ have!”

He offers a short bow. “I’ll leave you in the capable hands of my seneschal, I need to show the Seeker to her room and then make sure the parade is ready.” Without missing a beat he offers his arm to Cassandra and escorts her around the corner into a corridor adorned with hanging tapestries, wavering in the breeze over the alcoves they cover.

He drags her behind the nearest tapestry, pushing her against the wall and kissing her hard.

“Missed you,” he breathes, yanking at her waistband.

“Varric -”

“Sshh.” He presses himself against her, tugging his glove off with his teeth. “We don’t have long.”

“We cannot -” Her objections die on her tongue, fingers tightening around his shoulders as his finger rubs against her slick heat. He grins against her neck, marvelling at how wet she is, how ready she is for him. Maker, but he wishes he had more time to enjoy it.

She makes a soft noise, and he leans up to capture her mouth once more, silencing her as he fucks her with his hand.

“Quiet,” he whispers, “you can be quiet for me, can’t you? I’ll give you what you need.”

She arches into him, bottom lip trapped between her teeth, hands grappling at him. Beyond the tapestry, there are distant sounds of life, and as footfall comes past their hiding place Cassandra's hips rock against him. He looks up at her, the dim light illuminating her blush. She was magnificent.

“You're so good, Seeker. So _very_ good."

Her forehead rests against his, her body shuddering. She _liked_ it, he realises, liked the thrill of being so close to getting caught. He would have to remember that, for when they had more time. For now, he curls his fingers, thumb rubbing her clit in quick jerky strokes.

"Come for me,” he breathes, and she pulls at him, mouths colliding as she whimpers her release. Her body flexes and writhes around him, before sagging against the wall.

He pulls away, swallowing. “Hi.”

She laughs, a soft breathy noise. “Hello.”

“We should, ah - we should probably get going. Isn’t it illegal to keep the Divine waiting?”

Her eyes drop to his groin. “What about -”

He shrugs, sucking on his fingers. “No time. Go get changed or whatever it is you womenfolk do when you have official ceremonies to watch. Left out of here, first door on the right.”

She kisses him soundly, smiling as she straightens her trousers. “Later,” she promises, “I will make this up to you.”

He smiles. “You saved my life, least I could do. Now, _go_.” He swats the back of her legs gently as she slips out of the alcove. He takes a deep breath, glancing down - his tunic did little to hide his own arousal, but the nerves that had begun to resurge in the pit of his stomach would take care of that.

“Maker,” he whispers, “but I love that woman.”

* * *

They sit, side by side, in the Maker’s house. Leliana leads the first sermon, and Cassandra’s hand finds Varric’s. Around them, the pews are packed to the rafters, everyone desperate to get a good look at the Divine. Varric half-fancies he sees Rivaini in the back, but it is a brief glimpse, nothing more. Beside him, Cassandra sings to Trials.

He nudges her slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s alright, isn’t it? Welcoming, not too cold?”

“It is wonderful.” She squeezes his fingers. “Take pride. You have done so much good here.”

“It wasn’t just me -”

“No, but it was mostly you. Do not undersell your efforts. You have brought Kirkwall back from the brink. These halls are filled with devotion, and it is all because of you.”

“They’re here for -”

“Yes, but they are here _because_ of you. I am so _proud_ of you, my love. So unbelievably proud.”

He smiles, the soft recitation of Benedictions washing over him. It was not going to fix the problems that still ran deep, he knew that, but... his city was healing, and this had been a big step towards that.

For the first time in years, Varric sings.

* * *

Bran leads the evenings entertainment for the Divine, and Varric leads Cassandra away quietly to his personal wing of the keep. In truth, most of the rooms here were unused for the majority of the time, though Bran had a room he had used on more than one occasion - especially since the events of Cassandra's last visit. But when the Viscount had broached the subject of his question, the seneschal had immediately suggested one of the private dining rooms.

Panic begins to swell in his stomach, and he swallows as he opens the door, gesturing for her to enter. All the fears that he had pushed down rise up again. _What if it was awful? What if she laughed? What if she said_ -

There is music, and Varric cannot hold back the smile at the realisation that Bran had once again gone the extra mile. In the far corner, a minstrel plays a wordless ballad, and the soft music sets the tone wonderfully - the candles flicker in the breeze, but remain lit. The large table is set aside for a more intimate affair, a small table adorned with flowers and wine.

Her small surprised gasp is entirely worth the stress.

"Oh, _Varric_."

He closes the door, crossing over to pull out a chair for her. "My lady," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss the small area of exposed skin at the back of her neck. She shivers at the touch, blushing.

"Varric, this is... oh, this is _perfect_ ," she breathes, reaching to hold his hand as he sits down. "Whatever is this all for?"

He laughs, squeezing her fingers softly. "It's for you. Does there need to be another reason?"

She blushes again, and he lets go of her hand only when the food is served.

She talks, relaxed and free, and he can almost see the parts of the stories where she has considered her phrasing, practiced its telling, and he is endeared entirely by her tales of Orlais and the mountains. He has missed her, missed her insight and her presence and her voice - Maker, he has missed her voice.

“Varric?”

He blinks, realising that he had missed the end of her story. He smiles, putting down his fork. “Sorry.”

She frowns, reaching over to hold his hand. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just…” He squeezes her fingers. “You know, I’ve spent a long time thinking about this. Us, together, in the same place.” His thumb brushes over her knuckles as he weighs his words. “I know everything we’ve done, everything we’ve accomplished was important and necessary. And everything we _will_ do is important too, and I know there’s still a lot to do before we get to call it a day.”

She stills. “Varric?”

“But I want…” He swallows, pulling away as he stands. “I want you to know you have a home to come to, always. I want you to remember where your heart belongs. Not to Kirkwall, not to the city, but to my heart.” He smiles, reaching into his pocket for the small pouch, fingers gentle around the circlet of gold. “I want you, Cassandra Pentaghast, to do me the immeasurable honour of becoming my wife.”

He watches her face, the shock and surprise giving way to something… sad. His heart tightens. _Oh_.

“Varric.” Her voice is clipped, halting, and he hesitates as her hands bunch in her lap.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’re -”

“They have asked me to lead them.”

His smile falters. “The Seekers.”

“Yes.”

He swallows. “Oh.” A beat. “So… does that mean you _can’t_ get married, or you _won’t_ get married?”

“It is not that simple -”

“No, I know, I'm sorry. It’s - I mean, it’s _okay_ , I’m not - I’m not _going_ anywhere.” He looks down at the ring in his palm. “You’ll still -” He stops, taking a breath. “I love you, and that’s not going to change, you _know_ that, right?”

“I have not -”

“And so what if we’re not married? It doesn’t lessen what we have. It’s just a - a _tradition_ , right? It’s not important. What’s important is that we -”

“Varric, please.” Her voice cracks, just enough to quieten him. “I have to - I have to go. I need some air, some… time.” She stands abruptly, but hesitates. “Thank you,” she says, softly. “This was… this was perfect.”

He catches her hand as she makes to pass him. “As long as you need,” he murmurs, kissing her knuckles, before letting go. She makes a soft noise, and then she is gone.

 _Shit_.

 

* * *

A bard troupe are in the middle of a short play about the love of Andraste by the Maker and Maferath. Varric cannot quite bear to sit in for the finale.

He does not take the wine back to his office, does not risk the temptation. He tries to think positively - she had not said no, after all. But his chest aches with the forced hope, and he rolls up his sleeves and tries to lose himself in legislation.

Perhaps this was how it was always meant to be - moments in time, fragile and fleeting and precious. Perhaps it was simply his lot in life to be left standing in the dust as the women he loved kept going forward. Perhaps this was a lesson in humility, to accept what grace had already given him, to not expect more than what he had.

He wonders, with a pained heart, exactly when he had found the courage to ask for _more_.


	35. interlude: answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And I won’t do that to you. I won’t make you second best in another woman’s life ever again.”
> 
> Varric breathes, and Cassandra smiles, watching him. “What does it mean, Seeker?”
> 
> “Oh, _Varric_.” She reaches out and cups his face in her hands. “My love. It means _yes_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all knew it was coming. <3  
> -w.l.

No one can say that Cassandra is without fear.

She doubts, very much so, that anyone _has_ , but for now – for now, oh _now_ – she is terrified. And of the simplest thing. The thought of it makes her chest tighten: with longing, with love, with surprise. She suspects she should have known this was coming, and maybe in the back of her own mind, she did. The thought of _being_ together, of truly belonging in tandem – is it too much to ask of herself? She supposes the reason she did not truly expect it was because these were the sorts of things that happened to other people.

It’s what she had always feared the most about Galyan. That she had fallen into a love that was meant for someone else. The very fact that he was lost to her proved that. But she had felt, in her letters to Varric and their first hurried moments, that she had finally found a love she deserved. And that, perhaps, she had deserved it all along.

But to _marry._

_To marry?_

She seems to burst from the keep, and the air that greets her does not heal like she thought it might. If anything it is only a reminder of the man she left behind, the city bearing his likeness in all things. Cassandra shudders in the chill of the evening, and she begins to walk.

* * *

The problem she lays out in front of her is hardly a problem at all.

She doesn’t want to be Lady Seeker.

She loves Varric.

Varric wants to marry her.

 _No_ , she thinks. _Varric wants us to marry one another._

It’s something they must both be present for. That’s how marriage works. Cassandra shakes her head, and she walks almost without direction. She isn’t quite sure where her feet are carrying her – her visits to Kirkwall before this have been heralded by bad news: a mage rebellion, the near-death of her lover. What good news has ever come from here before today? Without thinking, she wanders on a path she remembers, and she finds herself at the foot of Merrill’s tree.

There is no one around, the hour is quite late. Cassandra reaches out, touches the trunk. Her mother told her the trees back home _sang_ , but Cassandra can’t hear anything now but the steady bashing of waves in the distance of the harbor, the bell in the Chantry that tells her it’s eleven. Mother used to talk of marriage, and even Anthony teased her. She hardly remembers the first, but her brother always said: _You can’t marry blade, little dragon._ A teasing ruffle of her hair, yanking on the ponytail she sported for so long. She chased him about their camp or home with a dagger, and even still, she can hear him. But the voice fades, with time. The realization that she couldn’t remember how long Anthony’s hair had been when he died, or what his laugh truly sounded like had stopped paining her years ago.

People and the memory of them faded.

If she left, and never returned, how long would it take him to forget the scent of the room she had left him in alone? How long would it take him to forget the true color of her hair? Or for Cassandra to forget the way his hands felt in her own?

How long would it take for the scent of ink and parchment, and the sound of their crow to finally dissipate from her mind?

The idea that it even _could_ –

She realizes she cannot truly remember the tree in her uncle’s garden, and touches the leaves with her fingertips.

* * *

When she returns, he’s sat at his desk, turning paperwork over in his hands. He looks up when she steps into the room, relief evident on his face. “You’re back,” he says.

“I am, but I should not have left.”

“No, I understand. It’s…it’s not something you can just _decide_ —”

“But you have,” she points out.

Varric sets down the paper and leans back in his chair. “I thought about it for a long time, Seeker.” He stands and comes around to the front of the desk, reaching for her hands. “I thought about what I wanted most, and the way to get it was clear.”

“I am…less adept at finding such easy solutions. I make things difficult.”

“No. You do them your own way. I should have known you couldn’t just say yes. It’s not like restarting the Inquisition, or drawing a sword. It’s…forever, Cassandra. What I want with you is going to last forever, if we can make it work.”

She nods. “I know this. And I…I do not want you to fade.”

“…What?”

“Your memory, the thought of you. If I say no, we will fall apart—”

“That’s not—”

“It is, Varric. If I say no, it means I will lead the Seekers. It means I will put them first, always. It means I will do what I don’t _want_ for the rest of my life, but I will not be able to put you second and still call you mine.” She squeezes his hands. “And I won’t do that to you. I won’t make you second best in another woman’s life _ever_ again.”

Varric breathes, and Cassandra smiles, watching him. “What does it mean, Seeker?”

“Oh, _Varric._ ” She reaches out and cups his face in her hands. “My love. It means _yes._ ”

* * *

In between laughter and kisses, she finds herself _wanting._

“I love you,” she says, and Varric whispers back, “I love you, too.” His hands roam over her sides, catching at her breastband and stroking the hot skin there. Cassandra shudders in his grasp. “I love you, and I want you,” he murmurs, before turning her around and pinning her against the desk.

“ _Yes_.” Cassandra arches forward as he brushes his fingers along the waistband of her breeches and loosens them, the touch somehow more intimate than it was earlier that day. Cassandra is reminded of it when his fingers finally stroke her clit, and she cries out.

“Thinking about today?”

“It was...perfect.”

“You surprised me.”

She flushes and ducks her head. It was a pleasure she hardly indulged in, but she isn’t ashamed. “I am...glad you liked it.”

“I like this,” Varric says. “I like you.”

“I should hope so.”

He shifts and Cassandra feels his erection bump against her knee. He is achingly hard, she can tell, and she reaches down to free him. “All day,” he manages, gasping as she strokes his cock. “Thinking about you, thinking—” He groans as she slows her hand.

“Varric.”

“Huh?”

“Make love to me.”

“Here?”

“Well...your room—”

“Too far,” he says for her, and she laughs. “It is. It’s too far and too hard to get to. No, we’ll do this here. I’ll give you what you need, Seeker, I promise.”

Cassandra sighs, shifting so he can yank down her breeches, bringing her feet up to push his own down around his knees. “I trust you.”

Varric falters, fingers stuttering over the bare skin of her hip. “...You do, don’t you?”

“Yes. With my whole heart.”

He laughs now, dropping his forehead to her sternum and nodding. “It sounds good. Feels good.” He sighs and slips his fingers against her clit, chuckling when she gasps. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s touched her, she will always feel _alive_ when he does. Carefully, he pushes one, then two inside her, lazily stroking, occasionally bending down to nip at her, kiss her, whisper something she can’t hear. It’s all teasing, all dancing on the edge of what she _needs_ , and when he finally draws his fingers out, she feels empty, and desperate.

“ _Varric!_ ”

“Easy. I’ll give you what you need, Cassandra. I promise.” He leans forward against the edge of the desk, stroking his cock against her entrance a few times before he pushes in with a groan. Cassandra gasps, surprised at the slow, steady pacing of his thrusts. She doesn’t mind it, doesn’t even think to complain. His body slots against her own perfectly, and there’s nothing she would change about the things he does to her.

Well, maybe just one.

“ _More_ ,” she begs. “Varric, _please_ , more, I need—”

“Yeah, yeah I’ve got you.”

“Oh, my love—”

“ _Shit_.” His rhythm falters for a moment. “Say it again, _please_ —”

“My love, Varric, _harder_.”

“Whatever you want, I—” He groans, thrusting so hard the desk trembles beneath them. “Like that?”

“ _Yes, yes, yes_ —” Cassandra cries out, filled and exhilarated, proven wrong and right all at once. She’s certain they _must_ marry, now -- no other man will ever do these things to her the way he does. And she doubts her heart could leave his, not after everything. She slides her fingers against her clit, moving harder and faster, until her body clenches in anticipation, and he shouts.

“ _Cassandra_ —” He moves, gives her what she wants, takes what he wants, and Cassandra feels so _in love_ , she can hardly stand it.

But most of all, she _feels loved_ , and that is the most singularly unique thing she can think of.

“Can you come?” Varric says, looking at her.

“Yes, my love, _yes._ ”

“Do it. Please, come. I want to feel it, I need to—”

Cassandra nods, her fingers moving faster, more frantic now -- until her entire body clenches with the effort of it -- and she _screams_.

And he is still going. It pushes her close to the edge all over again, and she grabs his chin in her hands and forces him to look at her as she says, “Come, my love. Come inside me, let me feel you—”

Varric moans, and whatever he was going to say dies as he kisses her, thrusts harder. And it’s just the sound of their bodies, of their skin and mingled breath as he tumbles closer and closer to the edge and _then_ –

He comes, and she feels every second of it as he fills her, as she raises herself up to be made into his. As they are both made into each other’s, and the moment, as intimate as there has even been, comes to an end.

She lifts herself up and is aware, suddenly, that they are something grand to one another, something they need to care for without end.

He pulls out, and slumps against his desk.

“Shit.”

“Yes.”

“I mean, _shit._ ”

Cassandra swats his arm. “Yes, Varric. It was incredible.”

“It really was.”

She sighs. “We should be a bit ashamed. It is a very holy day.”

“Is it?”

“The consecration, Varric! And here we are, rutting like teenagers—”

“We didn’t do it _in_ the Chantry,” he says. “And you make me feel at least fifteen years younger than I am.”

“I do not.”

He laughs and she sighs, stroking his hair.

“Varric?”

“Hmm?”

“You know that I...must return to Val Royeux. And to the mountains. I must name the successor.”

“I know this.”

“And you know it will be several months before we can marry.”

He nods, kissing her neck. “I know this, too.”

Cassandra sighs, running her hands over his shoulders as he kisses her. “And I won’t be wearing a dress—”

“ _Seeker._ ” Varric stills, pulling back to look at her. “Relax. We’re taking this one thing at a time. You said yes, you know. I’m still celebrating that part.”

Cassandra laughs, kisses his forehead. She feels so full of love for him, _from_ him.

“We will marry,” she says. “That’s a promise.”

“Oh, I know. But we’ll take our time.”

“That seems like a good idea.”

“Unless a wedding tomorrow in our fancy new Chantry also sounds like a good idea—”

“ _Varric!_ ”

He chuckles. “Alright, alright. Just checking.”

Cassandra holds him closer, tighter, feels the press of his lips to her skin.

It is a reminder, she thinks – that better things lie ahead, and that, despite how often she has tripped over herself, she is _loved_ , and will be loved, for a long time.

He’s promised her that. And she intends to give him just as much.

 


	36. letter set 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra: We have managed our love with the distance for so long, I wonder how we will do when we are finally wed? Another adventure, I suppose.  
> Varric: Think about how often I’m going to drag you behind tapestries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [12:20:39 PM] catchbooker: post?  
> [12:20:56 PM] *** v takes deep breath ***  
> [12:20:57 PM] v: yeah
> 
> (this is the last chapter.)

My love, I didn’t mean to leave so many days between last seeing you and finally sitting down to write this letter, but I have been traveling for much of it, and I am finally free.

I traveled to the mountains, and I gave Seeker Moira the book.

She was not expecting it, and at first, she wouldn’t take it. There was a great deal of crying, and for a day or so, Seeker Demond was livid. But his anger didn’t last long. I explained my choice, and I explained my circumstance. I told him I was engaged to be married, that I wanted a life and a future with my husband that did not put the Order first, and he understood. It surprised me, and I was reminded, again, that I am often wrong in my snap judgments of the people I meet. You, above all others, have shown me that.

He wished me luck in life and love. And he promised to look after Moira, and advise her honestly and fairly.

I believe I have left my family in capable hands.

Returning to Val Royeux was a sharp reminder that you and I seemed to live in a world separate from reality for some days. There was a great deal of work to be done, and we’ve sent scouts out to follow a lead on Solas. The Inquisitor is currently here with us, and regrets that they could not attend the consecration of the Chantry. I’m sure you’ll receive a letter of apology soon.

I returned and found my balcony overflowing with flowers. You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you? They aggravated Josephine’s allergies each time she passed my room, until I relocated some of them. She told me to tell you she adores flowers, but in very small numbers. And she appreciates the lilies, always.

I wore my ring around the chain you gave me so long ago while I traveled, but Leliana convinced me it looked far more beautiful on my finger, where it belongs. And I must say that I agree. I have been cleared to travel to Kirkwall as needed to “plan” the wedding, but I am unsure how one even goes about such a thing.

I miss you, but I am glad of the new weight I bear on my hand. It is a reminder of things to come.

 

Cassandra, my wife-to-be --

                I’m just gonna let that soak in for a moment.

                From everything you’ve told me of her, Moira sounds like the right choice. Passionate about the Order, but just and fair. She’ll do right by them - by you. I know you’ve stepped down in a sense, but you’re still a Seeker, whatever else. She will lead you all right. And Desmond too, I guess - I’m sure his wisdom will come in handy, as long as he realises that this is not the same Order he once knew.

                Flowers? Wouldn’t know a thing about that, obviously. I’m just a simple dwarf - although, please pass on my apologies to Ruffles, I’ll be sure to find her a nice bottle to make up for all the sneezing.

                I knew there was a chance the Inquisitor wouldn’t be able to make it, but I’m glad you two got a chance to catch up. That it comes because of a lead on ~~Chuckles~~ Solas.... well, that I’m not so thrilled at. But then, every mention of weird Elven shit rankles me these days. Daisy’s learned not to bring every interesting piece of lore to my door. Although you should know - ah, she’s probably writing to tell you herself, but our Elven community is getting smaller. People just up and vanishing in the night. If there were a Dalish clan in the area, it’d be understandable, but Daisy keeps finding references to Fen’Harel. Whatever he’s planning, people are listening - and they like what they hear. Thought you should know.

                I always said I’d get you something to replace the earring. But I agree - it looks a lot better on your finger, Cassandra. I look forward to the day it gets to stay there.

                As for planning… well, I’ve only a brief experience and needless to say it wasn’t much, but Aveline knows a thing or two about this sort of thing. And I know Bran’s desperate for me to let him start actually throwing ideas around, but I told him he’d have to wait. After all, if I left him to his own devices, we’d end up married in front of a thousand people, and you wouldn’t be able to move for the number of petticoats he’d put you in. I figured you had the right to lay down some ground rules before he started his plotting.

                Life here continues, as it usually does. I don’t get much chance to stop and smell the proverbial roses, but every so often I get word that the people are happy enough. The Carta still have pockets of influence, and there’s rumblings of movement from them on the horizon, but I’m not too concerned. I’ve still got a few shots left in Bianca, after all.

                Future wife of mine, know that I miss your presence greatly. I know you’ll be back before I know it, naturally, but this bed is colder without you.

                Yours, in earnest,  
               -- Varric

 

Future husband of mine - oh it is fun to write, isn't it?

Please tell Bran he is welcome to begin small preparations, but I do have a few requests: it should be an intimate affair, I will not be wearing a dress, and also I would like the Ponces to be in attendance, or at least invited. Perhaps I am in a mood and it will fade, but I should like to rub it in their faces that I am perfectly capable of serving this council from now and into the future, married or not.

Also if you can convince some of our old companions to be there, it would mean a great deal to us both, I think.

Regardless, plans or not, there is still other work to be done. The scouts captured one of Solas's recruits, but they weren't very chatty. I will look into the disappearance of the elves from the alienage - I did receive a letter of congratulations from Daisy, as well as a notice that her small community was slowly shrinking. I will make it as much a priority as I can, but I told her it was all fairly bureaucratic here. I hope she understands.

I probably shouldn't talk outside these letters of wedding arrangements. Not only does it make me terribly homesick for your arms, but Josephine apparently has fabric swatches on hand. They were, miraculously, spared by the vandals.

How lucky for me.

But, I will say she has excellent taste in wine selections. I am assuming there will be wine. She also has suggested a spot in Antiva for the week after the wedding. I said we would probably be working, and it broke her heart. Perhaps a day or two of rest won't hurt.

All that aside, there is so much time before, and I won't think on it anymore

But do try and stress to Bran that no petticoats will be necessary.

 

My darling Cassandra --

                Bran has been a little… over-enthusiastic since your letter. I had to put a stop to it, quite frankly, as he was making my life a lot harder by letting the paperwork build up. Still, I don't think I'll ever forget the look on his face when I asked him to be my witness.

                He promises no petticoats, but he does think he can change your mind about the dress. Says he has a secret weapon, but won't tell me what.

                Daisy was overjoyed when you wrote back, and asked me to assure you she's not worried about losing people - she just wants to make sure the rest of the world isn't caught unawares. She took the whole Fen’Harel thing quite well, did I ever tell you? I remember telling you about my doubts, but she was quite alright in the end. You were, as ever, right.

                Lucky for me, I have no Ruffles on hand to bother me with details. Unlucky for me, I have Donnic, who keeps dropping by to remind me of all the old Marcher traditions I need to remember because Maker forbid I screw this up, blah blah blah… honestly, we should have kept it quiet.

                No, wait. We shouldn't have. I'm still insufferably smug any time someone mentions that you said yes.

                Still, I've managed to avoid a good deal of actual wedding talk in the past few weeks. The Carta made a move against the Guild, and I was drafted in to help with damage control. A few of the warehouses were torched - no major loss, but you know how dwarves can get. It's a matter of pride.

                On top of that, more completed construction work means that people can start moving back in - Lowtown is all but finished, and now that the new marketplace is done the place is bustling. Me and Rivaini took a walk the other day - it almost feels like it used to. And I know it'll never be quite as it was, but it was good.

                I’m sure you’ve already told Sparkler, but I sent him a letter to let him know he needs to come visit for a wedding, and I’ll invite the rest of them when we have a vague date in mind. I’m sure they’ll all already know, you know what they’re like for gossip. And I’m definitely sure they’ll all come. Any excuse for a party, right?

                Is it bad that I’m looking forward to the parts afterwards more than the actual wedding? Don’t get me wrong, Seeker, I’m excited, but… afterwards, when it’s just you and me and the rest of our lives together? That’s the best part. That’s what this has all been for.

                Yours, daydreaming,  
                -- Varric

 

My love, with whom I have decided to spend forever, it is not so bad to be excited for that. I imagine our future will be filled with uncertainty sometimes, but I am certain good can and will happen. And we will be together. That’s what matters. I could never have imagined such a future with you, but here we are, and now it is all I can think of myself.

I will write to Bran to see about this way he could somehow change my mind, but I sincerely doubt that it could happen. I am certain in the things that I want, you know this better than anyone.

I’m glad Lowtown is improving, and the projects continue moving forward. I’ve said it before, you should be so proud of what you have done for your city. I think I am...excited, to be there with you in the future as you continue to make it stronger. There will be more work to do, I’m sure. And I cannot wait to help you.

Even so, I will still be needed on the Exalted Council, and I am still a Seeker. Though I won’t lead them, they will need me from time to time. But you know me, and so you know these things already. You have so much patience for me, Varric. I am incredibly blessed.

Leliana wanted to know if you were continuing to attend services in your new Chantry, but I told her not to press the issue. Still, she wishes to know. Look forward to a missive from the Office of the Divine soon. I believe she already knows the answer - she is Leliana, after all - but I think she would like to see it in your own writing.

We’ve made further strides in handing over Inquisition powers this month. Cullen was at Val Royeaux again, uncomfortable of course, but willing to work with us on limit the power of the soldiers. It took a great deal of negotiating (you know he has little patience for these things), but we reached an agreement that benefits us all. And we were able to track down some of the elves who left Merrill’s alienage. I think she may see a handful return, with perhaps their world a little changed. She must be ready for that herself.

We must all be ready for change, you and I especially. We have managed our love with the distance for so long, I wonder how we will do when we are finally wed?

Another adventure, I suppose. 

 

Cassandra, heart and home and my horizon --

                We’ll manage, I’m sure. I’m not saying everything will be easy - I haven’t really lived with anyone in such close quarters… well, ever. And I’m still a pain in the ass, according to Bran. But I would do anything you asked. I am, after all, your pain in the ass.

                Besides, think about how often I’m going to drag you behind tapestries.

                I know you’re still going to be needed, but I can bear losing you every so often - after all, you’ll always come home. And it’s not like I won’t be needed either - our lives are not entirely our own, they never have been. But that’s okay, that’s what we chose, right? As much as I once wouldn’t have minded a sedentary life of luxury, that’s not who I am anymore. And you - hell, Seeker, I don’t think you were ever the kind of woman who could sit on her hands when there was work to be done. I love that about you.

                I love a lot of things about you. Good job, too, what with the whole marriage thing coming up.

                Most Holy Nightingale might be surprised - I mean, sure, I’m not there every week, but sometimes it’s a nice place to sit and think after Aveline’s walked with me through the city in the evening. And Mother Clarice is kind enough not to bother me unless I talk to her. I’m not… quite there, not always. But it’s not a burden to be there anymore. Your fault, in a way, but that’s not a bad thing.

                Still, that seems to be the way with the new Chantry - attendance is always good, like the city can really believe in something again. Mother Clarice is doing good things. She came to me only yesterday to try and set up something for the orphanage, so hopefully between us we can come up with something to make the kids’ lives a little better. It’s easy to forget, when I’m looking at building layouts and official decrees, that real lives are being affected. Thankfully Bran, Aveline and the Mother are here to keep my feet firmly in the mud.

                Speaking of Bran, he keeps asking me if there are any Pentaghast traditions you’d like to keep in mind for the ceremony. Because, clearly, I am an expert on your family history. I told him to write to you directly, and he made that annoyed noise and stalked out.

                Shit, should I know more about your family?

                Yours, in trouble,  
                -- Varric

 

No, my love. You are my family now.

I suppose that is a little...harsh. I have an uncle and a number of cousins and distant relatives, but we have not spoken in several years. I was young when I lost my parents, and Anthony was my only family for the longest time. You know the history of the Seekers, so you know the history of my other family. That, I think, should do just fine. I have never needed the Pentaghast line before this, and I doubt I will need them much after. I’m sure they won’t even blink when they here, and it is incredibly likely they will. Gossip is notorious.

I only attended one wedding as a girl. My cousin Andromeda was married, and at a rather young age, seventeen I believe. I was nine. It was a formal affair, completely in Nevarran, with candles and rather brooding organ music. There was no dancing. You would not have enjoyed it, I believe I fell asleep in the Chantry pews. And I believe Andromeda wore black, but that could be something I’ve made up.

So, no. We will not be honoring any Pentaghast traditions. Unless Bran can dig up something that isn’t completely morbid.

It’s odd, because my mother had a wedding outfit, I remember seeing it in her wardrobe when I was very young, but I don’t remember much about it. It wasn’t black, but then my parents made rather poor Pentaghasts, as I have.

I am glad you are attending service when you can, my love. We will, of course, have to work on that when I return, but it is hardly my intention to force you. I am only glad that you are happy, and that your Revered Mother is patient with you. It takes such skill. You can be a...difficult man.

But a man that I love, all the same.

 

Cassandra, inspiring and beautiful --

                I think I prefer the Pentaghast you are. The rest of them sound a bit stuffy. But then I’m not exactly a model dwarf, so maybe we were always meant to find each other.

                Did I ever tell you about my mother? I meant to. She was… a strong-willed woman. Not exactly a great mother, but maybe that was just because I wasn’t a very good son. Her and my father cared a great deal about the Tethras name, and I didn’t, but they were good people at heart, I think. But they’re gone now, and so is Bartrand, as you know. I’ve got cousins here and there, and I still think of Maevaris as family - did I tell you about her? Widow of one of my distant cousins in Tevinter, of all places. She’s actually friends with Sparkler, if you can believe that. And then there’s the family I made here, but you know them.

                And you, of course. The best family.

                You know, it’s funny. I haven’t really written much since I finished the Inquisitor’s story - never enough time, you know how it is - but I was thinking about us and this big step we’re going to take, and it occurred to me. I never really finished Anneline and Loric’s story, did I? And then I sat down, and… well, it’s a rough draft, as ever, but I thought you might like something to read whilst you’re dealing with the Ponces.

                I have heard, after all, that you’re quite the fan of my stories.

                Yours, heart and soul,  
                 -- Varric

 

[ _enclosed_ ]

The evening breeze is warm, caressing Anneline’s bared arms before passing over her and flying out across the docks. How strange, she thought, to be here once more, awaiting that foolish dwarf.

And yet…

She did not doubt that he would appear, not this time. They had always been out of step, one beat behind the other in their dance, until that wonderful night some months ago. Since then, they had worked hard to keep in time, hands clasped tightly as if one false step could prove their undoing.

And, in truth, it might have done.

But hearts are made of stronger stuff than most people give them credit for, and Anneline had learned that, slowly but surely. And so she waits, without fear.

 _What a novel idea,_ she thinks with a smile.

“Is that smile for me?” Loric’s voice breaks through her thoughts, and she turns to find him approaching, that smirk that she had grown to love firmly planted on his face.

“Of course not,” she deadpans, and he acts wounded for a moment before pulling her into a lingering kiss.

“Miss me?”

“I suppose.”

“You flatter me,” he drawls, and she laughs, pulling him in closer.

“Would you have me any other way?”

He grins against her mouth. “Never,” he breathes, claiming her mouth once more with searing passion.

 

My love, unwavering in his resolve and trust, so patient and good - we have come so far.

I certainly remember those first days of our letter writing, when the story was unsure, and so we were. I needed to trust you, and I know you needed the same. Our words were enough, then, until we could do more for each other. And I am so happy to find us here, waiting for one another. Not because we have bargained for time, but because we have finally made a promise.

I’m happy to see Anneline and Loric finally have each other. I’m proud of them, same as I am proud of us. We’ve grown so much, haven’t we? We’ve made one another better, I think, and in that, we’ve gotten better at love.

I’ll leave here at the end of the month. When I come to Kirkwall, I suppose we should begin to plan in earnest, but I am not worried. I know us, and I know our wedding, and our marriage will fall into place, just as so many other things have done. Know that I love you, in the days leading up to it all. Know that I trust you beyond all reason, and believe you to be, not just a good man, but a great one.

And I am glad to know how Anneline and Loric’s story ends, but I do wonder -

Where will the Seeker and her rogue go next?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> V and I want to say thanks for reading along to this not-so-little story. I swear when I asked her to do this with me, I thought it was going to be something small. 
> 
> Surprise it wasn't. 
> 
> Sorry we're not sorry we broke ur hearts, and we're glad you all enjoyed it so much.
> 
> But don't fret! We'll be back soon to wreck ur hearts some more. We won't leave you hanging, promise.


End file.
